


Two Weeks in the Summer

by msdaphne



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Casual Racism, Christianity, DADT Era, Don't worry, Happy Ending, Homophobic Language, M/M, Military AU, Some kissing, Trans!Poe, but no one gets hurt, lots of hand-holding, lots of nerd shit, minor fisticuffs, nineties au, nothing really bad happens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-06-18 10:00:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 51,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15483264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdaphne/pseuds/msdaphne
Summary: For Stormpilot Week 2018: Historical AU.Finn and Poe are Army Aviation reservists, thrown together as buddies for annual training exercises- the "two weeks in the summer" that the recruiting ads mention. This takes place circa 1998. That's only 20 years ago, but I'm calling it a historical AU because I think it is proper and correct to think of DADT as a historical era.





	1. D Minus One

**Author's Note:**

> Heads up: Throughout most of this fic, when it's not from Poe's POV, he's referred to with female pronouns by his fellow soldiers. I hope it's clear that they're not intentionally or maliciously misgendering him. The DoD didn't allow people to transition openly back then. As far as the Army is concerned, SPC Dameron is female, and as far as his comrades are concerned, Poe is a super butch lesbian that they like and respect. (Well, most of them.) I know it's jarring to read- and it was exhausting to write- but that's kind of the point. Poe knows how to perform to get along, but it's exhausting for him, too.
> 
> Most of the OCs in this fic are based pretty directly on real people. I may have widened the ratio of allies to assholes a bit, because I want this to be a happy story. Partly to make room for those OCs without this being crazy long, I left a lot of little moments between Finn and Poe on the cutting room floor. If something doesn't make sense or seems like a plot hole, feel free to ask about it in the comments.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Setting: 1998, on a mid-sized second tier Army Aviation base, somewhere in the American midwest. One of two reserve units that drill at the base leaves in the morning for their annual two-week field training exercise.

* * *

 

"Alright, men, listen up."

Someone nudged SPC Torrey; she and PFC Salas just rolled their eyes.

"And ladies," MSG Ortiz added, a beat late. "This is gonna be final formation, get you out of here early. Go home once you got your gear together, which you _should have_ done last month."

"Sergeant Ortiz!" A voice from the back row _._

"What now? This better be nothing."

"I heard some punks from Bravo are tagging along. College boys. That right?"

"I expect professionalism from _all sides_." Ortiz glared at his troops.

"Larkin one of them?"

Ortiz closed his eyes and took a calming breath. "Absolute, consummate professionalism," he repeated.

A few techs in the back row- they didn't really do _squads-_ whooped and laughed.

"Comp'ny, ten-shun!"

The group straightened up a bit.

"Get your gear, get some rest, get your ass back here at 0800. Dismissed."

They fell out and turned toward the locker room, chattering about this new front in the long-running prank war between the two sister units.

 

"Specialist Finn." Ortiz beckoned with a jerk of his head.

"Sergeant?"

"You've drilled with Bravo before, right?"

_Oh god, please don't put me with Larkin._

He liked the guy; everybody liked him. But he could be... a lot. Finn liked him in small doses, not joined at the hip for two weeks.

"Yes, Sergeant."

"You remember Specialist Dameron?"

_Oh, thank goodness._

Finn couldn't put a face with the name, but at least it wasn't Larkin- or even worse, that snivelly little bigot McCollough, the other stray. Truly, _praise the goddess_ that he wasn't buddied with that asshole; he was going to have to make an offering.

"Not sure I do, Sergeant."

"Gonna have her be your co-driver."

_Her?_

The only woman he remembered from Bravo was... Franzia? Firenze? Something Italian. Definitely not Dameron. He frowned, searching his memory for another female face.

"That gonna be a problem for you?"

"No, Sergeant. Not at all. I just don't remember any other, uh, females."

Ortiz kept his face neutral, choosing his words. "Her... hairstyle is... somewhat out of regulation."

Finn frowned deeper. That sounded like a euphemism for _she's a black girl_ , because the stupid regulations were written to make it nigh-impossible for black women to comply with them.

"It's not gonna be a problem, is it?"

"No, Sergeant, course not."

"Good. But if you _do_ have any issues, I want you to come to _me_ , first. Understand?"

"Yes, Sergeant."

"Good. Thank you, soldier. Get some rest."

Finn nodded and walked away feeling very grumpy all of a sudden. Of course he didn't have a _problem_ with black girls. His best friends were black girls. His sister was a black girl. It was just weird that the supposedly colorblind Army would buddy them up. And that Ortiz would take him aside, all hush-hush like that. His stomach sank as he wondered what these _issues_ might be. Was she a jerk? Had she had _issues_ with other people?

At least he had his gear squared away; he didn't have to wade into the sweaty, musty scrum in the locker room. He was going to go home, go to bed real early, and try not to imagine the worst.

Driving home, he ran through all the faces he could remember. There were the mellow, easy-going section leaders. The electricians, including _that guy,_ the hot one that had caught Finn staring at him. The one that Finn was pretty sure either hated him or suspected he was queer, or both, the former possibly being the result of the latter. The avionics guys- and gals, right, there were _two_ women in avionics, but there was nothing out-of-spec about either of them. He could not for the _life_ of him remember any black women being in Bravo Company.

 

* * *

 

"Jeezus, you guys, open a window!"

"Poe! You're home early!" Karé jumped up to open a window, waving her hands through clouds of pot smoke.

"To finish packing? For AT?"

"Wait, when is that?"

"Uh, tomorrow?"

"I thought that was like... next week or something."

"And they say that shit doesn't kill brain cells."

"Whaddya mean, _that shit_?" Jess laughed. "You used to love it."

"Still do, bud. I'm literally counting down the days."

"You could get away with like, one hit."

"I'm getting like _one hit_ just being in this room and breathing."

"You alright, man? You look, you know." Karé tilted her head, questioning with her eyes.

Poe plopped on the couch and looked longingly at the fat bowl in his friend's hand.

"Yeah. Just... not looking forward to it." _Dreading_ it, was more like it.

"Why? You always have a blast, doing all that badass army shit."

"I guess."

"Did something happen?"

Poe sighed. "So. You know how I had to move stuff around for my finals?"

"Yeah," they agreed, although their blinking suggested they didn't really remember the details.

"So I have to do summer camp with this other unit."

"They let you do that?"

"We're like, sister companies," he shrugged. "I don't know why we don't do more stuff together."

"So... do you know anyone there?"

"Not really. But a coupla my buddies will be there. And some of the full-timers- those guys know me."

"Are you nervous about it?"

" _No._ Just. It's probably gonna be awkward and annoying, is all."

Karé and Jess frowned at one another.

"Look, if you guys really want to be _allies,_ "

"Hoo-boy, this should be good."

"You'd make dinner? Please?"

"You _better_ have your laundry done. _Bro_."

"Something with roughage? Not gonna get any for a while."

"We were just gonna make some ramen. I'll toss some spinach in yours."

"Isn't there cabbage in the fridge, too?"

" _Cabbage_? Aren't you gonna be driving a truck all day tomorrow?"

Poe thought about it, and then grinned. "Isn't stinking up the cab is supposed to be, like, one of the great dudely pleasures?"

"Gross. Go pack."

 ...

 

Really, Poe just had to double-check everything, because he'd actually packed in advance a week ago. He'd learned _that_ lesson. His first AT had been after a year in college, a year in which he'd gotten real comfortable real fast with passing. Too comfortable, maybe, because packing had been more triggering than he'd thought it would be. Specifically, packing certain items, without which he would _technically_ be out of uniform, despite never having needed one in his life.

It was one thing to get dressed half-awake at oh-dark-thirty for a two-day drill. It was quite another to pack a half-dozen of the things into his duffel, and realize he was committing to being _her_ again for two weeks straight, in close quarters, in the middle of nowhere, no civilian vehicles around, no way out.

Oh, and finding his web gear fitting a little snug in the hips, _that_ had been fun. That, at least, had just been the typical post-IET spread that happened to everyone. Nowadays he went for a run in his web gear once a week, and had never needed to adjust it again.

He checked his gear over one more time and set out a uniform for the morning, rolled up with all the smaller articles inside so he didn't have to look at or think about it until five o'clock the next morning. He would get dressed in dim light and lug his shit down to the car. Crack a Diet Coke, pop Karé's scissor mix in the tape deck, and spend the forty-five minute drive settling into the persona of _patriotic tomboy._

 

He'd fibbed a little, when he'd said he had buddies from his section coming. He had _a_ buddy, Larkin. McCollough wasn't his buddy. He had a pretty low opinion of Poe, frankly. But he was younger, and a pain in everyone's ass, and generally acknowledged as a _punk-ass bitch_ , so his opinion didn't count for much.

Larkin, on the other hand, was a natural-born leader, but too undisciplined to advance very fast. He definitely had some kind of undiagnosed ADD or something. He had the temperament and energy level of a friendly eight year old. Or maybe a terrier. But he was a good dude. And he watched out for Poe. He was protective, even _chivalrous_ in ways that would have been downright offensive in any other situation.

At first Poe had bristled when Larkin, right from the get-go, had called him _Miz Dameron_. He also lifted things, held doors, and scolded their comrades about their language. Honestly, it was a little alienating sometimes. It had taken Poe far too long to realize that the guy generally did that kind of stuff in front of cadre. When it was just a few of them from their section, chasing sparks or doing benchwork or slow walking some detail, it was just _Dameron_ , and it was easy to feel like himself. Just another soldier, like everyone else.

There was no safe way to ask if the guy was doing it on purpose, or if it was just some kind of intuition, subconsciously germinated in his 600 rpm gerbil brain. But Poe appreciated it.

 

And the guys in Delta seemed okay, from what he'd seen. He'd play the part of patriotic tomboy; they'd assume he was a lesbian and make little innuendos that went right up to the line of _Don't Ask._ He'd respond with sassy little female-chauvanist comebacks- _What would Karé Kun say?_ would be his motto- and they'd all get along just fine.

Well, except for that one guy. Finn. He'd drilled with them a couple of times. Poe had never talked to him, but had caught him staring. Repeatedly. The first time, he'd actually thought the guy was hot. Well, okay, the guy was objectively hot. But Poe had met his eyes, nodded in acknowledgment, and the guy had looked away, frowning over his shoulder, pretending to study some safety poster on the wall.

Finn obviously disapproved of the _lesbian_ that he perceived, and was probably extra pissed that he wasn't allowed to say anything about it anymore under DADT. He and McCollough would probably get along great.

Whatever. Poe had dealt with plenty of assholes, and made it this far. He was confident enough not to rise to the bait. Strong enough to put up with the insults. And people had his back, to a degree. They wouldn't let anything _happen._

It would be fine. As long as they didn't end up as co-drivers or something.

 

 

* * *

 


	2. Seen You Around

* * *

 

Finn lined up behind T084 with the bulkiest of his gear: his ~~bedroll~~ modular sleep system; and his duffel full of clothes, snacks and a couple of books. Formation wasn't until 0800, but PFC White had let it be known that he'd check out his deuce early, so people could load up. Up ahead he could hear SPC Larkin, joking to whoever happened to be within earshot. Finn was actively tuning him out when he jumped up on the bumper, clinging to one of the ribs like a monkey.

"Let me help you with that, Miz Dameron."

Finn's ears pricked up. He craned his neck to try to see his new buddy, but he couldn't see that far ahead. He could only see hands, lifting gear into Larkin's grasp. They didn't look like a black girl's hands. They looked a lot like a dude's hands: broad and square, with prominent veins and blunt pink nails at the ends of strong, sun-brown fingers.

Larkin hopped down and the two of them turned toward the hanger. Finn turned to look-

Holy shit, it was _the guy._

Finn snapped his eyes forward and his jaw shut. There was a scuffle, though, and he looked again. Larkin was trying to take Dameron's ruck to carry, too, but Dameron pushed him away with a friendly shove, shaking his head and smiling.

 _Her_ head, Finn reminded himself.

 _Her_ head.

 _Her_ head, _her_ teeth, _her_ smile.

 

 

He still had fifteen minutes, after stowing his gear. He thought about introducing himself, and chickened out and went to his car instead. He pulled out his tac gear, laid it on the trunk, and took a swig of water. And then he pulled out a cigarette. He was pretty good about it most of the time, but he always ended up smoking at summer camp, because everyone smoked at summer camp. He might as well start now.

He lit it, leaned against the car, and stared out at the treeline beyond the perimeter. He tried to wrap his head around the fact that _that_ was SPC Dameron. He shoved down an unwarranted pang of loss, because even if _that guy_ hadn't wanted anything to do with him, _that guy_ had also been pretty hot.

And that was another little disaster right there, because it had taken him so long to really accept himself, and now- nope, he wasn't going anywhere _near_ that mind fuck right now.

He tried to picture Dameron all dyked up in a sharp suit, shiny wingtips and slicked-back hair, opening doors and pulling out chairs for the pretty little lipstick number on her arm. That helped. That was a good image, and he tried to cement it in his mind.

Shit, of course she didn't like him. She'd caught him- a dude- ogling her on several occasions. Of _course_ she didn't like him.

Well, that was easy enough to clear up, right? He was queer, she was queer, they were gonna be stuck together for two weeks. If ever there was a case for an exception to _Don't Tell_ , this was it, right? In fact, this was awesome. Who better to be buddies with?

 

Unless.

 

Unless he was wrong about her. Unless she was one of those _patriotic tomboy_  types. With a chip on her shoulder and something to prove, maybe from a proud military family, a real Major Houlihan type. In which case, she'd be exactly the _wrong_ person to confide in.

His stomach flip-flopped. He realized the cigarette wasn't helping, and flicked it away.

 

* * *

 

After formation, Finn followed the sound of raucous rivalry to his assigned vehicle, T1013. Larkin and Reyes were loudly reminiscing about prank wars past, while some of the less  _alpha_  guys listened and laughed along. SPC Dameron slouched against the bumper, rolling cigarettes.

Pinch, drop, spread, roll.

Lick, swipe, inspect.

A dart of the tongue to correct a flaw, re-inspect, drop into a tin.

Repeat.

She appeared utterly disinterested in the conversation. Which was odd. Most of the women he'd known in the army were either front and center when it came to this kind of bullshitting- showing off, trying to be one of the guys- or they studiously avoided it, doing their jobs and keeping their heads down and not subjecting themselves to any more horseshit than necessary.

Interesting.

He wanted to watch for longer, to really fix in his mind that Dameron wasn't  _that guy_  after all. But her chin lifted ever so slightly at his approach, and she turned slowly to meet his gaze under low, bored-looking eyelids.

"Oh, hey. You're Dameron, right?"

She looked down at her name tape and then up at Larkin.

"They gave me one of the literate ones."

"Barely," Finn agreed, with the only answer that was socially acceptable. "I know the stop sign is the red one with eight sides."

"That's pretty good for a grease monkey," Larkin allowed. "You got lucky, Miz Dameron. I got Reyes here. Only thing _his_ thick head is good for is maybe a wheel chock."

"Safety First," PFC Johnson chimed in.

She smiled at that, and finally acknowledged Finn. "Nice to meet you, man. I seen you around."

"Yeah, seen you around, too."

"Ooh, slow down, Finn. I don't think you're her type."

"The fuck you know about types?" she demanded of Reyes; he put his hands up in surrender.

"Yeah,  _Don't Ask_ , man," someone muttered.

She shook her head and pulled out another rolling paper. The drivers prattled on for a few more minutes, until one of the motor pool inspectors made it down to H129 with his clipboard, and Larkin and Reyes went to inspect and sign out their vehicle. Another was right on his heels to sign out T1013.

 

* * *

 


	3. Cracking the Ice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first leg of the convoy.

* * *

 

At first there wasn't much to say, at least not to each other, what with the farcically slow process of lining up the convoy, pulling out, and watching out for civilian vehicles. Finn drove first, and Dameron handled the radio. He was impressed with her radio voice; she seemed really comfortable with it. It didn't help him to remember who she was, though. What with that deep, easy drawl and confidence with the lingo. It didn't help _at all_.

Once the last wrecker was on the highway, everyone signed off and settled in to the long stretch ahead of them at 45mph.

"You're really good at that."

"Good at what?" Dameron asked.

"That radio stuff. You seem really... confident."

"It's not like it's fucking complicated."

"I didn't say it's complicated," Finn protested.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to be a dick."

"S'aight."

 

Okay, then. Off to a great start.

 

"So, uh. You had some college thing?"

"Finals. Our AT was the same week."

Right, finals in May, he knew that. "What are you in school for?"

"Biology."

"Cool. Are you gonna, like, save the Amazon or rescue sea turtles or something?"

"Probably not. Wildlife stuff is in pretty high demand."

"What, are you not _literate_ enough?"

" _Touché_ ," she granted. "I don't know yet. I want to go into endocrinology, but I don't wanna have to torture animals."

" _Torture_?"

"Not like, cutting rabbits' eyelids off and poisoning them with lipstick. More like, fucking with mouse nads."

"Nads?"

"Gonads? Ovaries and-"

" _I know_. I thought that was genetics, not endocrine stuff."

"Yeah, it's... complicated."

"Too complicated for a semi-literate grease monkey?"

She sighed, apparently already exasperated with him. 

"Sorry."

"Look, if I understood it all already, I wouldn't need to go to _school_ for it, right?"

"Okay, okay. Just trying to make conversation."

"Sorry."

Wow, they were really racking up the casual apologies here, weren't they? _Sorry. Sorry. Sorry._ Finn imagined keeping a tally on the dashboard in chalk. At this rate, they'd run out of room by the end of two weeks.

 

"So, I take it you're _not_ in school, then?"

"Nope."

"Why not? I mean, you _are_ one of the literate ones."

"Ha. But no, man. I got bills to pay."

"What do you do in real life?"

"Road work."

" _Road work_? Finn, dude-"

"Not that kind of road work. Engineering shit. Building bridges and stuff."

"Oh, badass. But don't you need a degree for that?"

"Well, someone does. You know, the guys in the air-conditioned trailers."

"Don't you want to be one of those guys someday?"

Finn shrugged.

"Dude, you know about the Reserve GI Bill, right? Free in-state-"

"I know, I know."

"So?"

"I can't, man. I gotta..." He'd been hoping not to bring this up yet, not until they'd had the chance to approach the _other_ conversation. But here they were. "I got a kid."

"So?" Dameron continued, unfazed by this bombshell, because of course; she thought he was straight. "You can't tighten your belt for four years? You'll be a better provider on the other end of it."

"Her mom and I... we're not together."

"Okay."

"So I can't tighten my belt. I got child support."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"A judge wouldn't understand, if you're going to school?"

"Maybe. But one, I don't ever want to step foot in a courthouse again."

"Well, you should get over that."

"And two... engineering? Sounds pretty intimidating."

"You're an _aircraft powerplant mechanic_ , dude. I know we make fun of each other, but there ain't no dummies in that MOS."

Finn sighed. He hadn't had enough coffee to have this conversation. Hell, he didn't even know Dameron's first name.

"Sorry, man. Finn. I'm kind of an evangelist about the GI Bill. Ask anyone."

"S'okay, man. Anyway, Sergeant Lopez is trying get me to think about sergeant school, maybe coming over full-time."

"You thinking about it?"

"Yeah."

"Lopez is a good dude."

"The best, man."

(SSG Lopez had really taken Poe under his wing, really helped him fit in. He'd been cross-training him when there wasn't enough electrical work to do, made sure he got plenty of flight hours, and generally treated him with a respect that rubbed off on everyone around. Poe had an extraordinary amount of loyalty towards the guy. But that wasn't the kind of thing you said out loud too soon or too often.

"Really knows his shit," he said instead.)

"Yeah he does."

"So, uh. How old's your daughter?"

"Just turned three."

"What's her name?"

"Mercury."

" _Mercury_? Holy cow, what a cool name!"

"Yeah," Finn agreed. "She's really grown into it, too."

"Why, is she _fleet of foot_?"

"Oh, god yes. And talkative, too. Jesus, can she talk."

"That's awesome."

"Yeah."

"And-"

Finn cut her off before the window closed. "So, her mom and I. We weren't together long. But we get along now. We're friends, you know?"

"Good, man. That's the way to do it."

"We actually work a lot better as friends than in any kind of... romantic sense." _If you know what I mean_ , Finn wanted to add, but his breath caught in his chest and- it was too soon.

Dameron just nodded.

"So, I know the guys were making fun of me, for saying I'd seen you around."

Her eyes closed, bracing for whatever Finn was about to say.

"I wasn't hitting on you, I swear."

"Good to know."

"I mean it. I mean." _You were ridiculously attractive, when I thought you were a guy, but_. "I wouldn't. And, I know you wouldn't be interested-"

"Do you."

"Sorry. I just. Didn't want you to think I was. Hitting on you, you know."

"Thanks."

 

Okay, well. This wasn't going so well. But how could it, when the stakes were so high for both of them?

 

"God, I wish we could smoke in the cab."

"Well," Dameron ventured, "we can, as long as we don't get caught."

Finn chewed his lip.

"Wanna rollie? Easier to dispose of the evidence."

"I would _love_ one."

Dameron lit rollies for both of them, and they smoked and drank their Cokes in silence for a few miles, each trying to figure out what to say next.

 

"So... what's your real name?"

"Ummmm... Finn? Is my real name?"

"Tssh." Dameron rolled her eyes. "I _mean_ , your first name. Or whatever you go by out there. In real life. Civilian life, whatever."

"I actually go by Finn. Really. Everyone just calls me Finn."

"Oh?" Dameron grinned, a toothy, lopsided little smile, and Finn had to forcibly remind himself that she wasn't _that cute guy from Electrical_. "So what's the weird name your parents gave you? Can't be any worse than mine."

"Why, what's yours?"

"Asked you first."

Finn sighed. " _Bertrand_."

"Like, Bertrand Russel?"

"My dad was named after him, and I'm named after my dad."

"That's cool. Were your grandparents commies?"

"Did you seriously just ask me that?"

"Sorry."

"Anyway, I've always been happy with just Finn."

"Oh, yeah, man. It probably wasn't any fun being _Bert_ on the playground, huh?"

"It was not. Because Bert is a killjoy with a stick up his ass, and everyone assumed that was my personality."

"You think you internalized any of that?"

"Ya think?"

"Shit." Dameron seemed to think on that sincerely for a minute, and then snorted. "Sorry."

"S'aight. So what's yours?"

"Poe."

"Poe?"

"Yep."

"As in the writer, or the Teletubby?"

"Oh my god, fuck that show." (Even if it was a vanguard of the gay agenda, Poe thought. He had way too many friends that liked to get high and watch it, despite being adults, and sometimes Jess cooed _Po-o-oe_ in this weird little bird voice.) "The _correct_ question is: The writer? Or the river in Italy?"

"Okay. So, the writer, or the river in Italy?"

"The writer, duh."

"So your parents were big fans of nineteenth-century horror?"

"No, that's me. My mom was a big fan of the classics."

"Not following."

"Big fan of Homer."

"Simpson, or-"

"Fuck you."

Finn laughed, somewhat triumphally.

"You ever read the _Odyssey_?"

"Like, a YA version... I don't remember a _Poe._ "

Poe huffed. "They named me _Penelope_."

Finn tried to keep a straight face. He did, he really, really tried, but he failed. He laughed out loud, and barely managed to keep his eyes on the road. "I'm sorry," he wheezed.

"No problem. Nice to see you loosen up, _Bert_."

"Aw, shit."

Poe smiled, too, and Finn felt that the ice was cracked, at least, if not quite broken.

 

* * *

 


	4. Flying J

* * *

 

Poe's unit always stopped for lunch at a little mom-and-pop place off the highway. They'd call ahead, and the place would have stacks of box lunches and extra pots of coffee waiting for them. The handful of females would waltz in and out of the two-stall ladies' room under the envious eyes of the rest of the drivers. Then they'd gather around the picnic benches in the grass over the leaching field, smoking and joking and stretching their legs before the second half of the trip.

This unit had a different tradition. They were informed over the radio that lunch would be at the Flying J at the next exit.

A big, clean truckstop.

With big, long restrooms.

Ones that would be full of civilians.

 

Great.

 

In civilian life, Poe had strategies. His favorite retort, recently, was _I had lice and had to shave my head._ But in uniform you had to be polite, even to old ladies who yelled at you and called security, or teenage girls who snickered and shrieked, or mothers who glared daggers as they huddled their children close.

Great.

If he'd known they'd be stopping someplace like this, he would have brought his glasses. The pink, rhinestone-bedecked cat eyes with blank lenses, the ones he often stuck in his pocket before going to the mall or the movies or anyplace with big public restrooms. He hadn't known, but it was still his own fault; he never should have left home without them.

 

They were idling in line, waiting to be flagged into position, when a knock on the cab door startled them. Poe leaned out the window and looked down to greet the tiny figure of PV2 Inez Chach, a sight that instantly buoyed him out of his anxiety.

"Hey cuz!" He beamed at her. Of course, they weren't even remotely related. Their families were from different regions, different backgrounds, and had come to the US under very different circumstances. But they had decided the day they met that they must be cousins. It was kind of their thing.

"Hey Poe! Sergeant Renault wants to know if you can come check out a brake light on the trailer."

"Of course. Now, or?"

"When you park?"

"Cool. Be right over."

"Everything okay?" asked Finn, who had only heard Poe's side of the conversation. "They're not making you work over lunch, are they?"

"Naw, it's fine. It'll just take a minute."

Honestly, it was a reprieve. Like hitting the snooze button. A few minutes to chase down a loose connection while he wrapped his head around this new bathroom development. Just being around the kitchen crew would be nice; he felt like he could be himself around them. SSG Renault was the head cook, and one of his favorite people in the whole battalion, after Lopez. She was practically _out_ , but then, she had job security. She did a gross, unglamorous job that few would want, and fewer still could effectively manage.

A little ray of hope pricked his mood- maybe, if the job was quick enough, the three of them could go inside together. It wouldn't be too much to ask, but it would be awkward to ask. Embarrassing, even. But less embarrassing than some little girl asking why there was an _army man_ in the ladies' room.

 

Oh.

 

Duh.

 

That was the plan, wasn't it?

There was no brake light.

Well, shit.

He had to blink the sheer gratitude out of his eyes, had to turn and look out the window so Finn wouldn't see how fast he was blinking.

 

...

 

The pee break was uneventful. And Renault had some interesting comments about Finn, later, when they were leaning in the narrow shade and eating soggy truckstop fried chicken and stale biscuits.

"I like him."

"Yeah, he seems okay."

Better than Poe had imagined, anyway.

"I think he's good people."

"Sure. He seems alright."

She wiped her mouth and slugged down a gulp of the flavorless brown-tinted liquid that the truckstop alleged to be coffee.

"Really. I get a good vibe from him."

Poe squinted at her, as if he could make that comment clearer, but she took another bite and looked away, staring off into the middle distance. If he didn't know better... it sounded like she was trying to say...

"He has a kid."

"So do I," she reminded him, around a mouthful of chicken.

Poe nodded, because she did, she did indeed. Finally he shrugged equivocally, and offered an open-ended _hmmf_ , meaning that he wasn't dismissing her intuition out of hand. It was as explicit as the conversation was going to get. More explicit than it should have been, probably.

 

* * *

 

It was Poe's turn to drive after lunch. Which was good, because it meant he had to keep his eyes on the road. Not on Finn, scrutinizing the guy for signs and clues. It was also, however, after lunch. The sun was warming up the cab, and the scrubby prairie didn't offer much to look at, and the greasy truckstop food sat heavy in his stomach. All the Diet Coke in the world wasn't enough to keep the torpor at bay.

"Man, I wish we had a radio in this thing."

"Nothin' out here but Christian radio anyway," Finn lamented.

"I might take it. Just to stay awake." Poe made a face. And then grinned, and looked at his watch, and went out on a limb.

"We could still catch a little Rush." He bit down hard to keep a straight face, looking straight forward for one... two... three... and turned. It was a joke, but Finn was not amused. He was staring blankly out the windshield. Shit.

"You know I'm kidding, right?"

Finn shrugged. "I don't care. You're the driver. Whatever you want to, uh."

"We were just discussing the fact that there isn't even a radio."

"Right." Finn shook his head. "Sorry. After lunch brain farts, you know?"

"Yeah, me too. I'm like at that point where I'm not sure if I had too much caffeine or not enough."

"Yeah."

"But seriously, I was kidding. It's like a joke between my roommate and me. I forget that not everyone thinks it's funny."

Poe could feel Finn looking at him, measuring, estimating. He met his eyes briefly, offering sincerity. Finn nodded slowly, accepting this, and then grinned.

"Well. In that case. It disturbs me that you know the schedule."

Poe winced, hissed through his teeth. "So, my parents live like three hours away. Through several counties of _this_." He gestured out at the patchwork of monocropped fields and featureless prairie.

"Uh-huh."

"So... sometimes AM is the only thing that comes in."

"So you _do_ listen."

"Only to get pissed off enough to stay awake."

Finn snorted at that, and Poe smiled. He wasn't sure about Renault's gaydar, but at least the guy wasn't a dick.

"So I should piss you off to keep you alert?"

"Naw, definitely not. Seeing as how we're stuck together and all. How's your singing voice?"

"You're kidding again."

Poe shrugged. Finn seemed to consider it, then chuckled and shook his head.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothin."

" _Buddy_."

"I could do some cadences," Finn offered.

" _NO_."

"No? You'll hate-listen to Rush but you don't want to sing about suicide and pedophilia?"

"Ugh, forget I asked."

"Oh, and don't forget about desperate, dubiously consensual geriatric sexual exploration."

"You know, I _had_ forgotten. So, uh, thanks for reminding me."

"No problem. What's a co-driver for?"

Poe could hear the shit-eating grin in Finn's voice without even looking. He smiled back, keeping his eyes on the road. So Finn did have a sense of humor, after all. One that jibed. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe it wouldn't be bad at all. He looked at his watch again.

"Ooh, now we're missing _Savage Nation_."

"Please tell me that's like an ironic, punk-rock version of _Native American News_."

"It is not."

"Do I wanna know what it is?"

"Motherfucker makes Rush sound like a fucking Care Bear."

"Yeesh. I don't think I'd like that."

"I hope not. If you did, I don't think we could be friends."

 _Buddies_ , fuck. He meant to say _buddies_. But Finn didn't seem to notice or mind; he looked out the window at the passing billboards. They were driving through sunflower fields, their heads turned toward the mid-afternoon sun like soldiers marching forward around them. They passed a hedgerow- hawthorn and persimmon and sand plum, and bushy Joe Pye weed leaning out from the dappled shade into full sun. On the other side, a new field, and the sunflowers at the edges were sparser and unwatered, drooping a little. They looked more like weary refugees than proud ranks of troops, straggling behind the main body, like camp followers in pre-modern warfare. It was kind of eerie.

 

After a few minutes, Finn said quietly, "There's that pretty one."

"There's a pretty one?"

"The one about smoking pot."

Poe blinked, sure he'd remember that. _Oh, right_. He always thought of it as _that spooky Vietnam one_.

"You mean _Pebbles and Bam-Bam_?"

"Yeah. I always thought it was pretty, anyway."

"Real pretty," Poe agreed. "A little spooky. But pretty."

"Call and respond, or... together, or...?"

"Take turns?"

"Okay." Finn took a deep breath, and sang, " _Pebbles and Bam-Bam on a Friday night_ ,"

Oh, _damn_ he had a nice voice. Fucking of course he did.

Poe sang the next line. " _Tried to get to heaven on a paper kite_."

" _Lightning struck_ ,"

 _Boom_ , they intoned together.

" _Down they fell_ ," Finn continued.

 _Awww_ ,

" _Instead of going to heaven they went straight to hell._ _Walk on._ "

They nodded in time together for a few beats, and Finn began again, " _China Red and Johnny Blue_ ,"

" _Tried to get to heaven in a paper canoe_."

" _Lightning struck_ ,"

_Boom_

" _And sank the boat_ ,"

_Awww_

" _And China said Johnny, how long can we float._ " Poe's voice cracked on the last verse, and Finn picked up the _Walk on_.

"Sorry," Poe muttered. "That Vietnam stuff gets to me sometimes. Gives me the shivers."

Finn hummed. "Can I tell you something?"

"Sure."

"That song made me cry once. In Basic."

Poe nodded in understanding.

"Coming out of final FTX. Everyone's broke. Drill Sergeant busts that one out at like mile twenty-eight."

"Aw, damn."

"And she had the voice, man. Fucking powerful, soulful. And everyone's just so tired and ate up, and we're walking into this hazy, pastel sunset, and I... I just felt, like, the countless guys and people that had humped that same trail, over decades and generations before me, and... I'm walking in the footsteps of dead people and... we were all so tired and hungry and it all just-" Finn broke off, shaking his head.

"Yeah," was all Poe could say. He had the urge to reach out and hold Finn's hand, clenched his hand tight around the steering wheel instead.

"Sorry."

"What, for being a soldier and having feelings?"

"Ugh, you know."

"Or was that a pre-emptive apology for giving me nightmares tonight about never having been born?"

"Never having... shit, was your dad in Vietnam?"

"Yeah. That's how he met my mom."

"Oh. Huh."

He could feel Finn's eyes on him, knew what he was going to say next, because it was what everyone said next.

"I don't wanna sound racist, but... you really don't look, you know."

"Don't look what?"

"You know. Half Vietnamese."

"Cause I'm not, man," Poe laughed. "My mom was stationed in Hawaii."

"Oh. Shit. You knew I was gonna say that, didn't you?"

"Yup."

"You get a lot of people with that one."

"Yup. What about your folks?"

"My dad was drafted at the end. Never went over."

"Good for him."

"I dunno. I think he feels bad about it."

"Hm. What about your mom?"

"Church secretary."

"Oh. So are they really into like, religion?"

Finn made a disgruntled little sound.

"That good, huh?"

Another grunt.

"Me too, dude. I hear ya. Never really worked for me."

"Honestly, fuck that horseshit," Finn spat.

Whoa. Interesting. Because _fuck that horseshit_  wasn't really a popular sentiment, here in the great midwest, but it was pretty common among his queer friends. And a lot more vehement than Poe's own attitude, which was generally something along the lines of _show me a non-binary deity and a basic grasp of geology, and then we'll talk._

"C'mon, Finn, tell me how you really feel."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. Look," Poe pulled out his dog tags. "No Rel Pref, see?"

"I see. I didn't mean to get so pissed."

"Honestly, that wasn't very pissed. I know people a lot pissed-er."

"Pissed-er?"

"That could be a word."

"I feel like this says something about your _literacy_."

Poe chuckled and put the tags away.

"But you're not one of them, huh?" Finn asked.

"One of who?"

"The people that are _more pissed_?"

"I guess. I guess I realized pretty young that it didn't make sense for me. I was never, like, invested."

"Must be nice."

"So, I guess you were then. Invested?"

"Yeah."

It felt like they were so close, _so close_. Just ask him, _what happened, what changed_?

 

"You wanna hear something really sacrilegious?"

"I am all about sacrilege, buddy."

"Okay." Finn took a breath. " _Scooby the dog, and Shaggy the ma-an_ ,"

Okay, changing the topic, then. That was okay; that was understandable. The verse was a new one on Poe, but the next line was obvious: " _Tried to get to heaven in a paper van_ ,"

" _Lighting struck_ ,"

_Boom_

" _The lights came on_ ,"

_Aaah_

" _Turned out it was the old widow all along_."

Poe laughed harder than he should have, relived to have skirted the earlier moment of poignancy. "That's good. Where'd you hear that one?"

"I made it up when I was an SPS."

"No shit? That's good! You must've been great."

"Meh."

"You've got a really nice voice, Finn."

"You too, Poe. Really nice."

"Ha. I think everyone hated it when it was my turn. I just sang them old Marty Robbins songs."

"The yodel guy?" Finn guessed.

"No. Long-ass ballads about the Old West. My dad played his eight-tracks, like, incessantly."

"Care to share?"

Poe looked at his watch. "Long-ass ballads. _Long_. Maybe on the way back."

"Alrite, alrite." Finn nodded for a while and then came out with: " _This college kid, and this dumb army fuck_."

"Whoa! Who's calling my co-driver dumb? I'll fucking punch 'em."

"Just drive, man."

"Pretty sure you had to be in the ninety-fifth percentile to get into aviation."

"I was ninety-eighth."

"See?"

"Yeah, smart enough to know better, and yet here I am. So who's the dummy now?"

"Well, that makes two of us."

"That's a good point you make, Specialist Dameron."

Poe grinned and tapped his skull.

"Okay, so. _Once there were these two dumb army fucks_ ,"

"That's more like it. _Tried to get to heaven in a paper truck._ "

" _Lightning struck_ ,"

_Boom_

" _The tires blew_ ,"

_Aaaw_

Poe waited, but Finn gestured at him impatiently.

"Me? I thought you had this."

"Your verse, dude."

"Way to put me on the spot, ugh. Okay. The tires blew, and... and... _and melted in the road like sticky goo_."

"That's it!" Finn laughed and offered a low-five.

"That was terrible. That was-" _That was pretty gay_ , Poe thought. "Very silly."

"It was. Very silly."

" _Very_ silly."

 

There was nothing like being stuck together for hours on end to get to know someone. Poe still wasn't laying odds one way or the other, but Finn certainly wasn't the person he'd imagined, when he'd first seen him frowning across the hangar.

 

* * *

 


	5. Bivouac

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I already tagged for homophobic language, but this is where it starts to show up. There isn't going to be a lot of it, but from here on out it might drop at any time.

* * *

 

Poe was actually at an advantage when it came to their bivouac. They were staying at the same fire academy barracks Bravo always stayed at, instead of the empty dorms of the A&M college where Delta usually stayed. He knew the layout and hustled, fast but casual, to secure bottom bunks in the smallest bay for himself, Finn and Inez. Larkin was right on his heels, grabbing spots for himself and Reyes, and high-fived Poe once they'd thrown their gear down.

"How was your ride?"

"No rain, can't complain."

"Right on. How's that guy Finn?"

 _Intriguing_ , and funny and interesting, and _urgh_ , his singing voice...

"Seems alright."

"Good, good."

Poe didn't have to ask about Reyes; those two went way back. They'd been in AIT together. Poe didn't know how they'd managed to get assigned together, but they were going to have a _great_ time at summer camp.

"Wait." Poe stopped in his tracks, and turned back to dig a spare anything out of his ruck.

"What?"

Poe pointed at the bunk above Inez's. "We should save that for Rivera." Rivera had been assigned McCollough as a co-driver, and he was _not_ happy about it.

"Good call, good call." Larkin added one of his canteens to Poe's folded BDU trousers, enough to reserve the spot.

 

* * *

 

Renault wasn't going to set up the MKT for one night; the CO sprang for pizza instead. They clustered into cliques in the fire academy cafeteria, almost like they were in high school. Over in the corner, McCollough seemed to have found a couple of like-minded souls. Finn and Reyes described them to their buddies in low voices:

Pickett was every bit the rat he appeared to be, hatred written in his pinched face and glinting eyes and grating, exaggerated drawl. Definitely racist, they agreed, but what bothered Finn most was the guy's opinions on child-rearing. He preached the virtue of corporal punishment so loudly and so insistently that people avoided talking about their own children around him. Finn was pretty sure the guy didn't know he had a kid, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Desjeans was older, a lifer. A bigot, maybe, but that was somewhat lost in his general disgust and disappointment in  _everything_ , in life itself, it seemed. He seemed to have admitted defeat without accepting progress. Indeed, he appeared to be listening to the younger men griping, responding with nothing but the curl of his lip and the heaviness of his eyes, a grim soundboard with little to add.

It was kind of sad, Poe thought.

 

* * *

 

They were advised to turn in early, but everyone- well, the younger cohort, anyway- was still over-caffeinated and under-worked. They strolled around the little concrete campus, stretching their legs and trying to get all the grease to move, or sat around picnic tables smoking. Eventually they gravitated toward their bunks, gossiping and talking about the weather forecast, or trading notes on music and shows and movies. Larkin was loudly embroidering the morning's events:

"So I'm like, where do I load my gear? Right? And he says, get with PFC White."

It was obvious where this was going.

"So I'm asking everyone, like, _hey, where's this White guy_? And so-n-so points to the deuce. I look in the back, and I don't see no white guy. I just see this black guy."

Groans all around.

"And then," White took up his side of the story, "this motherfucker here comes up and he's like, _hey, are you White_? And I'm like, do I look white, motherfucker?"

Yep, just gets funnier every fucking time.

"You can't always tell, though. Like Finn, here."

Poe's hackles went up; that was his buddy they were talking about.

"I thought all Finns were white."

"That's right. That's how they get that vitamin D, up there."

"How you get your vitamin D, Finn?"

"Reindeer milk, dumbass." Finn's flat, deadpan delivery earned a little symphony of laughter. "Seriously, read a fucking _National Geographic_ once in a while."

"Nice one." Poe smiled and offered Finn a high-five.

"Watch it Dameron, or he'll try to-"

" _Gentlemen!"_ Larkin roared. Mostly the group just chuckled and shook their heads, _reindeer milk, shit, that was good._

"Good luck with _that_."

Everyone turned to see McCollough leaning in the doorframe, and Poe suddenly felt very tired.

"Just sayin'," McCollough snickered. "You ain't gettin nothin out of her, bro. She ain't got no teats."

Poe wanted to  _die_.

"She's got bigger pecs than you, faggot," Johnson muttered. 

"What'd you say?" McCollough edged into the room. "You been checking me out, _faggot_?"

"Shit," Finn said quietly. "Sorry."

"Don't be. He's one of ours." Poe scowled.

"You guys met Specialist Dameron yet? She thinks she's a man."

 _Fuck_.

Not that he had ever- or would ever- say anything like that, here. But it was kind of obvious.

"You want people to treat you like a _man_ , honey,"

 _Then stand up and fight like one,_ he'd been hearing since high school. And had done just that, plenty of times. McCollough had tried once before, last year. A couple of other assholes had egged the guy on, but the majority shut it down. Not that they were all on Poe's _side_ , necessarily. They just weren't there for drama. Dirty jokes and horseplay and the occasional prank, yes. But they didn't want to see anyone get hurt, and definitely didn't want to get in trouble.

Apparently, the guy was ready to try it again with this new group, to see if they were any more responsive.

"Think real careful about what you say next, _Private_."

Poe's eyes snapped open. That was Finn; _Finn_ had said that, shit, and he was positively glowering at the guy. Damn, Finn having his back like that almost made it worth it.

McCollough looked around and saw that no one was amused by his taunting. They were glaring, willing him to _go away and leave us alone._ The minute little primate calculations played openly across his face, looking for a way out of the deep water he'd found himself in, immediate little course corrections until he struck a safer tack.

"I'm just saying. Girls wanna do a man's job, you oughtta hafta meet the same physical standards."

Everyone relaxed, even scoffed a little at the guy's rapid retreat. Poe even rolled his eyes, behind his eyelids where no one could see, because he had, in fact, been scoring himself by the men's standards since before he even enlisted. But he didn't say anything, because... because, well, because it was something he was proud of, and he didn't want this little jerk making fun of him for it.

"Serious. How many push-ups you do, Dameron?"

"I pass, man."

Larkin sat down next to him and nudged him gently in the arm.

"See? She passes. That's all any of us need to do." Poe supposed he was trying to help, but it was actually a little irritating, because they'd been buddies at their last APFT and Larkin had been positively gog-eyed at Poe's scores. He wouldn't have minded the guy bragging on him a _little_ , in this situation.

"Oh, no. I'm not talking about the twenty-something bullshit _females_ need. I'm talking about the _real_ numbers."

Ha. Poe could do the forty-nine to pass the men's APFT in his _sleep_. He'd come just shy of maxing out a couple of times, and his goal was to get there before he got out. Larkin put his arm around Poe's shoulder and said, "You don't gotta prove _nothing to no one_ , Miz Dameron." And that was... a little off, from the way he normally looked out for Poe. He gave Poe's shoulder a couple of quick squeezes, a signal.

 _Do it_ , he was saying.

Fuck, the last thing Poe wanted was to be the center of attention right now. But it was Day One, and first impressions mattered. If he backed down now, that's how everyone in Delta would think of him. And McCollough certainly wouldn't be satisfied; he'd keep coming.

A double pat on the back from Larkin meant  _go on, do it._

 

Fuck, he was going to put money on this, wasn't he?

Great.

 

"And how many is that?" Poe asked, as if he didn't know.

"Forty-nine."

"Probably," he shrugged, keeping his eyes down.

At that, the rest of the group perked up again; this was sounding like a proper challenge.

"Tell you what."

A chorus of _Ooooooh_ rose around them.

"If you can do forty-nine,"

_Oooooooooh..._

"I won't say nothing about your itty-bitty titties the rest of AT."

 _How about you don't say anything about any part of my fucking body, fucking ever_ , Poe wanted to say, but Larkin was already on his feet, and the rest of the group was chiding _whoa whoa whoa, check yourself, no need to talk like that_. Poe took a deep breath and tried to ignore the heat on his face, because thinking about it just made it worse. And he didn't dare look at Inez, who was pretty flat-chested herself, and who was an absolute sweetheart who had done nothing to deserve the crossfire.

"Alright, then," McCollough amended, when the uproar had died down, "I won't say nothing in front of the Five-A inspectors about how that fucking _fade_ puts you in violation of AR-670."

 _AR dash suck my dick,_ someone scoffed. _Bitch, get your nose outta the fucking rulebook._

"And what do you get if I can't?" Poe asked.

"Take my KP shift."

_Oh, throw me in the fucking briar patch, why don't ya._

"I've already got one," he frowned.

"So? I thought bitches loved cooking."

"So... why you wanna get out of it, then?"

Someone howled in laughter; the group was firmly on Poe's side, now. Even the ones that were about to lose some money.

"Deal or no deal?" McCollough demanded.

"You don't have to do this, Miz Dameron." Larkin insisted, trying to lengthen the odds, no doubt.

"It's alright. I don't mind KP _that_ much," he shrugged, and Larkin frowned as if that was the _last_ thing he wanted to hear. Apparently it was convincing, because Finn leaned in, too.

"Don't listen to this asshole, huh? No one cares what he thinks."

Shit. Finn was really a good guy, wasn't he?

"Thanks, buddy." He nodded to Finn, and then turned to the challenger. "Deal."

There was whooping and the sound of numbers being exchanged and hands slapping his back.

"It's alright, Miz Dameron, I got faith in you."

"How _much_ faith you got?" White asked.

"Aw, jeez, you guys aren't betting _money_ , are you?"

"Just peanuts, miz. Just for fun."

"That's a lot of pressure..."

"Just peanuts between friends," White echoed. "No pressure."

Christ, Larkin was going to clean house. Poe hoped the guys from Delta wouldn't be too pissed. He stretched and drank some water while they made arrangements and elected Reyes timekeeper. A few guys had wandered in from the other bays, having heard all the commotion.

Great.

"You alright?" Finn asked quietly.

"Yeah. Fine. I don't care." Poe kept his eyes down, because he didn't want Finn to see how embarrassed he was- and on the other hand, he didn't want anyone else to see how confident he was. He nodded at Reyes, who waved people out of the center aisle and dropped to a crouch when Poe stepped into the space.

He dropped into position and took a couple of breaths.

"Ready?"

"Ready."

"Go."

He pumped out ten clean reps, stopped for a deep breath, pumped out ten more. The audience mostly sounded impressed, but he tried to block it out. After thirty, the majority that had bet against him were starting to sound doubtful. The fourth set was a little slower, but clean enough that they were muttering _daanng_ and _aw, shit_.

His palms were starting to sweat and slip against the linoleum. "Just moving to a dry spot," he told Reyes, shifting slightly to the side. It was allowed, but it was a good idea to tell the scorer, first.

He paused at fifty as swearing and cheering filled the room, but didn't drop.

"You got plenty of time," Reyes said quietly.

Five more, and even the guys that had bet against him were yelling _you go, girlfriend! show 'em how it's done!_

He was prickling with sweat now, and starting to shake a little. Five slower reps, three breaths. Five more, a little wobbly-

"Ten seconds."

One... two... three-

"Time."

He dropped to the floor and rolled over, panting. The guys were going absolutely nuts- although that didn't necessarily mean much. Being easily entertained was kind of a survival skill in the field.

Sixty-eight was hardly his best. The chart maxed out at seventy-five; he'd been frustratingly close at seventy-two a few times. But some of the guys were proclaiming loudly- almost _proudly_ \- that it was better than they'd ever done. Larkin pulled him to his feet and held his hand in the air.

"That's my _girl_ ," he crowed. Poe had good reason to be proud, but the thing was: the only way to respond was with modesty, no matter how false.

"I'm just glad you didn't want to race," he grinned at McCollough. "I'm a _shit_ runner. My weakest event." He realized as he said it that it hadn't actually been a contest, that the other guy hadn't put anything on the line, and that he had just loudly drawn attention to that fact.

 _Oops_ , he thought, holding McCollough's eye as he blindly returned high-fives, smiling under a cascade of congratulatory backslapping. 

 

* * *

 


	6. Setting Up Camp

* * *

 

Staging and pulling into camp was even more painfully slow than rolling out had been, slow enough that they started to take unsanctioned pee breaks in the brush. It was mid-morning when Finn was finally directed to park in the partial shade of a live oak. He and Poe stretched and groaned for a minute, and joined the work already in progress.

Folks from battalion were already setting up comms, leaving the reservists to unload the enormous, ancient, musty tents. Setting them up sucked; it was exactly the kind of grunt work most of them had gone into aviation to avoid. But there was no getting out of it. _Just dig in and get it over with_ , was the only way to approach it.

By midafternoon their group was starting to spread camo netting over the structures. It was slightly less physically demanding, but infernally frustrating, because the stuff tangled and snagged like a motherfucker. Half the group leaned their body weight against the flower poles holding the stuff up, while the rest scrambled under and over the netting, untangling and stretching it, calling out _hold on... okay, pull... okay, walk... push up?... wait, let it down... almost got it..._

 

SGT Harding took unofficial charge of their group. He was the new guy, a baby-faced Desert Storm vet who had just come over to part-time. He'd only drilled with the unit once. He looked like the kind of guy who was probably in school for _management_ or something. Finn didn't blame him for being a little arrogant among the reservist yokels, but it was grating. After all, most of the pilots were vets, too, and they tended to be _very_ respectful toward the technicians to whom they entrusted their lives.

The second bag of camo they opened was heavy, but an unexpected breeze to unfurl. Finn remembered, vaguely, folding it last year with strips of old groundcloth between the layers. It was a good idea, they agreed; they should do that all the time. They spread out and circled around, judging their work, and came back together agreeing to put a fork in this one, and to take a break, and that they hoped more of the nets went so easy.

"Where's PFC Finn?" Harding called out. He was holding something in his hand.

" _Specialist_ Finn," a couple guys corrected, nodding toward him.

Harding walked over slow, looking Finn over. He was smiling, but there was something just a little menacing in his body language. Finn could see the others taking a step closer, watching the guy like hawks.

" _Specialist_ Finn. Good to see that genius gets rewarded around here."

Finn had no idea what the guy was talking about.

"Recognize this?"

He held up a ziplock bag with a yellow note inside it.

"No, Sergeant."

"Don't _Sergeant_ me, brother. My name's Sean. And you, apparently, are the brains in this unit." He held up the note. Written in sharpie, it claimed _This was PFC Finn's brilliant idea_. He didn't recognize the handwriting. But it rang a bell- it _had_ been his idea to layer the netting, hadn't it?

"That's _smart_ ," the guy looked around at the group and tapped his cap. "Y'all fellas ever heard the phrase _work smart, not hard_?"

This was greeted with general huffs of disdain. Everyone could see what the guy was doing: coming into a new unit, trying to establish himself as a leader. He was an E5, but he didn't have any particular portfolio, wasn't a section leader or anything. He was just a grease monkey like the rest of them. He knew better than to actually pull rank, but he was trying to project something: not so much authority, as _dominance_. He and Larkin were going to butt heads hard, at some point.

"That was a great idea you had, brother. You should be working for Unicor."

The onlookers took a step closer, narrowing their eyes at the "compliment," because the company, which manufactured most of their tactical gear, was notorious for employing prison labor.

" _Ohh_ , I don't know if I'm the corporate type," Finn mused, pretending to have missed the taunt. "Maybe I'll just call the 800 number and leave a suggestion."

Oof, that felt lame. But the guys backed him up: _one eight-hundred deez nuts, si hables preguntas, Sean, brother, hermano_

Harding grinned. "This is the _nineties_ , man. They probably have a _website_. You know about the internet, right?"

"Yeah, we'll do that," Finn jerked his head in the direction of the HQ tent. "Just as soon as Mom gets off the phone."

 _Hahaaa, Mom's on the phone_ , someone echoed, slapping their thigh. It wasn't a very good comeback. He really wasn't the trash-talking type. But the important thing was that his buddies had his back, and _Sean_ could see it.

"Alright, alright." Sean turned to him with a friendlier smile, and put out his hand. "What's your name, brother?"

"Just Finn, really." He shook the guy's hand.

"Aw, c'mon, now-"

"Yo, _Sean_ ," Jamieson spoke up. "The man's name is Finn." A couple other voices confirmed this.

"Okay, okay. Well, that was a neat trick, Finn. And I got a lotta tricks to share with you guys, stuff I picked up in Saudi. Show you how to do it right, do it easy. This mobe is gonna be cake."

 _Whatever_.

"Looking forward to it, man."

 _Gonna bake us a cake, Sean?_ someone snickered, barely audible, and the guy pretended he hadn't heard. _Mom would do it, but she's on the phone._ Suppressed snorts followed. Finn almost felt bad for the guy, but he'd definitely asked for it.

 

They took a break and reconvened around the next task- stretching netting high over one of the wreckers. They were back to stretching and picking over the eyelets, amid a quiet undercurrent of cursing. Normally, the sight of MSG Ortiz and his clipboard coming their way would set everyone to looking busy. But given the current task, half the group jumped up and greeted him, _what can I do for you, Sergeant_?

"Gather round, men, I got some assignments." He opened his notebook to a page, closed his eyes and eeny-meeny-minie-moed, finally pointing at Rivera.

"What you got for me, Sergeant?"

Ortiz looked over his glasses at the notebook, and looked up at Rivera. "LP/OP," he pronounced mournfully, as if informing him that a family member had passed. Because surely it hadn't escaped his notice that Rivera didn't get along with his buddy, and being on listening post meant twelve solid hours of one another's comapny.

"Fuck me, Jesus, no, I'm sorry, pardon my language, Sergeant, but give me a fucking break."

"Hey, listen. At least we got contractors sucking the port-a-potties. You know how we did it back in the day?"

"Fuck me," Rivera muttered again, and stalked off to the wrecker's stepside- well within the _no smoking_ radius around the fuel tank- and lit a cigarette. No one tried to stop him.

He pointed again, at Finn this time, and peered down at his list. "Police the flight line, and be there when the aircraft come in. Help them with whatever they need."

"Just... the two of us, Sergeant?"

"No, no. There's, uh." He gestured around the camp, where other details were being pulled out of similar tasks. Poe moved into Finn's line of sight and caught his eye. She darted her eyes toward Rivera. Finn nodded.

"Sergeant. We can do LP/OP tonight."

Ortiz smiled at him. "Well, that's noble, fellas, but I got a system. If I start letting people switch," he shook his head. "It would just be a cluster-you-know-what. I got enough cats to herd. Sorry." He handed out a couple more details, turned to go, and paused.

"PFC." He nodded at McCollough.

"Yes Sergeant!" he barked out snappily.

"Why don't you come with me to Supply. We'll dig up those spools for ya's." He locked eyes with Jamieson, closest to where Rivera was sulking, and held up his splayed palm. _He's got five minutes_.

Finn and Poe stuck their heads around and offered Rivera their condolences, and headed up to the airstrip.

 

* * *

 

There were maybe a dozen soldiers there, a little short for a proper fod walk, but the field was pretty clean. They made a few passes and broke up into cliquey little clusters.

Finn gravitated toward Torrey and Salas. He high-fived Torrey and accepted a one armed-hug from Salas, and introduced them to Poe. They seemed _really_ happy to meet her. Not surprising, since there were so few females around... wait, what was Salas doing with her eyelashes? Because she was straight, as far as he knew. She had a boyfriend, anyway. He looked at Poe, who was looking a lot like _that cute guy from Electrical_ right now, with that self-amused, toothy little half smile under those wraparound sunglasses...

"What's so funny?" Poe wanted to know.

"Nothing," Torrey insisted. "It's just nice to meet you."

"Yeah, I heard you the first couple times."

"Oh my god," Salas blushed into her buddy's shoulder.

"Out with it," Finn demanded.

"Okay, don't take this the wrong way..."

"Shit." Poe looked down. "Is there a booger on my shirt or something?"

They _giggled_ , fuck.

"We thought you were a guy," Torrey admitted.

"Oh my god I'm so sorry!" Salas added.

"S'okay. I get that a lot."

"A _cute_ guy, though."

"I get that a lot, too." Poe ginned at her, looking both delighted and fucking _adorable_ , and Finn was briefly jealous of Salas. "My mom says I look like that guy, you know from that eighties movie? About the werewolves?"

"Oh my god, you do!"

"Oh my god I had the biggest crush on him!"

Poe looked awfully pleased.

"So you guys are buddies?" Torrey asked, quite unnecessarily. Wait, her eyes were doing something, too. They were... _checking Finn out_. Was that a _wink_? Oh. Wow. Okay, he saw what was going on, here.

Well, this was awkward.

"Yep. Buddies. That's us."

"That's cool... so where are you staying?"

"Staying?" Poe asked.

"Uh, they haven't told us yet," Finn admitted. "I was thinking with the kitchen, if they give us a choice."

" _What_?" Poe looked at him like he'd just spoken in Swahili.

"So we can stay together?" Finn frowned. "I mean, if you _want_ to."

"Huh?" Poe looked lost. They all looked between one another until Poe put two and two together.

"Wait, you guys have, like, segregated quarters?"

"Yeah, doesn't Bravo?"

" _No_."

"Ewww," Salas squealed. "So you stay with stinky men?"

"Yeah, just like last night, at the fire academy."

"That was _one night_. And there were _real bathrooms_."

"What do you think would happen if there was a _war_?"

"I don't know. That would be... different."

"Are you kidding? That's bullshit! I mean, I love those guys. Inez is my _girl_. But we shouldn't be fucking _exiled_. And neither should you guys!"

"It's not _exile,_ " Torrey insisted. "It's... privacy."

"It's _horseshit_."

"Well. I was gonna say you can stay with us," Salas pouted. "But it sounds like you don't want to."

"And where's that?"

"In the back of one of the deuces?"

"The one that had all the cots in it."

"Fucking bullshit." Poe turned and walked into the sparse woodline.

"Where you going?" Finn called.

Poe held up the tin of cigarettes. "No smoking on the flightline!" She slouched against an oak tree and lit one.

Finn supposed she had a point. He didn't like the idea of being exiled from the main body, away from all the word-of-mouth; they'd be out of the loop. They might miss out on some good jobs, or even flight time, if Lopez had to hunt them down. And he _really_ didn't like the idea of them splitting up. The other guys would want to talk about Poe behind her back, and the thought of that was repellent. And, he had to admit, he was a _little_ jealous of the idea of Poe bunking with the girls, of the three of them having a private little slumber party without him.

Dammit.

 

 

Poe didn't have long to stew, though. They heard the thrum of the first aircraft approaching from a couple of miles away. They donned their hearing protection and secured their headgear, and waited at the edge of the field while it circled and landed. Once the rotors stopped, the aircrew jumped out, and they were there to secure the rotors, with taut-line hitches to the landing gear in lieu of tie-down points, while the aircrew installed safety pins and inspection tags.

A second helicopter was landing behind them as the crew chief looked them over.

"You guys picked the wrong plane," he grinned. "C'mon." He led them up the cargo ramp. The hold was full of weapons racks, heavy-ass four-man carries. He leaned on one, smiling, like _whatchu gonna do about it?_

"I bet Specialist Torrey's stronger than she looks," Poe shrugged. "But I'd hate to see Miz Salas chip a nail."

She slapped Poe hard on the arm, and the little voice in Finn's head hissed _for fuck's sake, stop flirting, you're going to get in trouble._

But the crew chief just looked even more amused. "Well, can Miz Salas drive a mule?"

"Of course I can!"

"Well, they're on six-eight," he nodded down the flight line. "Be there when she lands and maybe you can be first in line."

"On it!" She hustled down the ramp. The chief drafted a junior crewman to help them carry the beastly loads down to meet her. They tied them down to the mule's open deck as securely as they could, and then Poe hopped up beside Salas, leaving Finn and Torrey to walk the quarter-mile or so to the supply tent.

 

Finn didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

For one thing, those two shouldn't be flirting so openly. Maybe it was Clinton's army, now, but it was still the fucking army. They could still be discharged for that shit.

For another thing, he didn't like being Poe's wingman. Torrey was his friend, and he wanted it to stay that way. Not whatever double-dating scheme the two girls had come up with. He knew people hooked up sometimes. _What happens in the field, stays in the field_. He didn't want to have to come up with some excuse- _Chelle and I are thinking about getting back together._ Or maybe he had an STD. _I just bang so many chicks, all the time, it was bound to happen..._

Torrey nudged into him. "Whatcha thinking?"

"Nothin'. Just tired."

It was stupid to be jealous, right? Seeing as how they were both getting hit on. Wanted or not, it was still flattering, right?

 

If he suspected that it might not be _that_ kind of jealous, he pushed it down, buried it, rolled a boulder over it.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, I think Reyes is looking for you guys," someone told them on the way to chow. They detoured by the main tent, and found him puttering with his gear.

"Hey. We saved you guys spots." He pointed across the aisle to two cots, tenuously reserved with small piles of gear.

"Oh. Cool. Thanks."

"We figured you'd want the corner," he shrugged at Poe.

"Oh. Yeah."

Finn looked at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Um."

"Don't say nothin'," Reyes said quietly. "See what happens." He finished whatever he was fiddling with and stood up. "See ya's at chow."

They watched him go and looked at at one another.

"Is this okay with you?" Poe asked. It made him nervous. He didn't want to be exiled, but he wanted even less to be exiled following a _scene_.

"Yeah, of course." Finn was trying to sound nonchalant, but he was studying Poe awfully closely.

"Okay." Poe took a deep breath and dropped his web gear on the corner bunk; Finn followed suit.

 

* * *

 

There was little mention of arrangements during the evening briefing. Most of the females had made their arrangements in advance; only a few were assigned during the briefing. Poe held his breath, but his name wasn't mentioned. The XO moved on to the location of the doghouse- the tent for the heaviest snorers:

"Y'all know who you are, right? I don't need to call anyone out, do I? Good."

The Lieutenant moved on, and Poe didn't relax. He felt like everyone was staring at him. He held out his palm to Finn- _should I say something?_ But Finn just slid him five, and returned his attention to the briefing. It was nice to know, at least, that Finn _wanted_ to bunk together. That felt good. Felt like they were really buddies, like Finn had his back.

There was some boilerplate about safety, and praise for a relatively smooth, injury-free mobilization thus far. The whole time, Poe felt like people were staring at him, waiting for the other shoe to drop. But the briefing ended with the XO asking a few people to get with him afterward, and then they were dismissed. No one raised their hand and yelled out, _Hey, Lieutenant, what about Dameron?_ And when he looked around, no one was looking at him. No one said a word.

No one said a word that night, either, although he supposed it helped that his self-appointed AT nemesis was out on listening post.

 

* * *

 


	7. Utah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get some time alone to talk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding the scientific speculation herein: remember, this is 1998.

* * *

 

MSG Ortiz found them on their way back from breakfast the next morning.

"Dameron. Major needs to see you."

_The CO? Seriously?_

He looked at Finn, who met his eyes and took a step closer, indicating his willingness to go together.

"Sure, both of ya's. C'mon."

 _Well shit_ , Poe thought. This seemed like overkill. If they wanted him to move, Ortiz could have just told them himself. This was bullshit. He vowed to stay cool, though, and not get Finn in trouble, too.

 

* * *

 

It wasn't about the sleeping arrangements.

"At ease," the Major muttered automatically. "Specialist Dameron."

"Yes, sir."

"Sergeant Ortiz tells me you're our NBC team."

"Uh. I'm _on_ the team, sir."

There wasn't funding, for a unit their size, for an actual section. The team were all double-slotted, which was fine, because there wasn't much for them to do.

Ortiz consulted his notebook. SGT Dennis, the NCOIC for the team, had trained with Poe's company last month. There were reasons for the other absences- a promotion meant someone couldn't be double-slotted anymore, another was training with Avcrad next month, another had recently gotten out, leaving their slot empty.

Oh.

"Um. What do you need me to do, sir?"

"Sergeant Dennis didn't say anything to you about a training exercise?"

"No, sir. I'm sorry, sir."

The two leaders exchanged looks.

"Specialist Finn."

"Yes, sir."

"How do you feel about NBC training?"

_Feel?_

"Honestly, sir?"

"Please."

"Don't like it, sir. But it's necessary."

"And what don't you like?"

"Uh," Finn searched for the words to describe the obvious. "The physical discomfort? Sir? And... the existence? Of those weapons? And their effects? On the human body? Sir?"

The Major nodded inscrutably, and then seemed to accept this answer.

"Well, that's why we train for those scenarios, right, Specialist?"

"Yes, sir."

"So should I assign someone else to work with Dameron, or would you be willing to be an ad-hoc team of two for the purposes of this exercise?"

Poe's heart sank. He was really starting to like Finn, a lot. But there was no way Finn would want to-

"Of course, sir. It would be a good learning experience, sir."

-and Poe's heart lifted right back up and expanded in his chest. Whatever was happening was probably going to suck, but Finn wanted to stick it out together, and that felt _good_.

"Alright, men. Uh, soldiers. C'mere." The Major opened the map case in front of him and turned it around. Inside was not a topo map, but a crude sketch of the area. "Here's us," he pointed at a blob, "and here's Utah." A Blackhawk unit that they were supposed to be doing joint training exercises with.

The basic idea was this: at some point the two units would police the aerial gunnery range- Poe surmised this would be toward the end of the trip. The NBC team's job would be to plant several easter eggs- trash cans painted neon yellow- representing ordinance of unknown provenance. The objective was for the personnel on the ground to respond with appropriate posture and communicate the threats. Once the team monitored the area and gave the all clear, they would secure the objects as unexploded conventional ordinance.

They were to meet the team from Utah at 1030 to scout locations for the easter eggs. Not too hidden, but not too easy to find.

"1030 today, sir?" Poe clarified, resisting the urge to look at his watch.

"Is that _alright_ with you, Specialist?"

"Yes, sir, of course, sir. Um, sir?"

"Yes?"

"You don't have a topographic map of the area, do you?"

The major looked almost merry as he tapped the case. "Well, since you asked, you can fill it in for us while you're out there."

Ouch, yeah, he should have known better than to ask.

"I want this back in my hands tonight. If there are any leaks, I'll know where they came from."

"Not us, sir," Finn declared.

"Thank you, soldiers. Dismissed."

 

Back outside, Ortiz tossed Finn the key to one of the ancient Broncos, older than they were. Not sexy, but comfortable and relatively fuel-efficient. He looked meaningfully at Poe as he asked, "You have all the personal effects you need for the day?" He might as well have just said, _you need tampons or anything?_

"I'm good, sergeant."

They followed him out to the truck and checked its fluid levels and contents: drinking water and meals, road tools, first aid kit, working radio, et cetera. Ortiz expressed his _hope_ that Utah had the same daily radio frequencies they did, which really inspired confidence in this project.

They headed out, Finn driving and Poe trying to make sense of the roughly sketched map. In the end, they just followed the widest and most well-worn of the dirt tracks winding through the base, and ended up at a heavy, locked gate with large signs warning of live fire exercises on the other side. Stacks of water barrels and railroad ties surrounded the parking area. There was no sign of another vehicle.

Plastic tiles behind padlocked plexiglass noted the date, with an advisory that the range was closed today, _No Live Fire, Personnel on Range_. It was good to know that _someone_ was communicating, anyway.

 

"Sorry you got dragged into this."

"This?" Finn gestured around at the trees and sky and absence of anyone else around. "I'll take this."

"Least the weather's nice."

"Yeah. So how'd you get roped in? You volunteer?"

"Not really. They tagged me when they found out I was a bio major. Not that that's relevant, at all."

"No?"

"No. It's mostly just inventory, and maintaining the equipment, and doing annual qualifications. Issuing guys new MOPP gear when they get too fat for their old ones. There's zero science involved. Literally zero."

They looked at their watches; Utah was late.

"So, tell me more about these mouse nads."

Poe pulled out a cigarette and sat against the bumper.

"Okay. Well. So there's all this interesting stuff people are just starting to figure out. About genes and hormones and how genes aren't just, like, there or not there. They can be, like, more or less active depending on the, uh, chemical environment."

"Is this, like, chemicals that act like hormones?"

"That's part of it, yeah. How do you know about that?"

"I hear I'm considered somewhat literate."

"No, I'm serious. It's wreaking havoc and no-one's talking about it. We don't even talk about it in classes that much."

Finn chuckled. "So. I found a laundromat where someone leaves _Scientific American_."

"Oh, _sweet._ Mine just has, like, religious tracts and car magazines."

"Six-month old copies of _People_?"

"Exactly. So where is this mythical place? This... _Shangri-Laundromat_?"

Finn made a face that said _You did not just say that._

"What? That was good."

Finn looked at him like an Olympic skating judge observing Tonya Harding's broken lace.

"Okay, tell me where it is, and I promise no more puns until after lunch."

"That's in like, two hours."

"Two long, fun-free hours. I mean _pun-free_. That's what I meant to say."

Finn let out a weary, put-upon breath, but his jaw jutted out and his lips were tight; he was trying _hard_ not to smile, which was even better than if he had.

"Okay. So. Anyway. It started with tracking down pollutants. But it's not just that. That kind of research is all about, um, all about-"

It was so easy to talk about with his friends and classmates. _It's all about what's wrong with people, how their bodies have been corrupted and diseased. But what about natural variation?_

Finn nodded, _go on_. But Poe's chest suddenly felt tight. He liked Finn, and he seemed cool, mostly. But he had been pretty displeased about Salas coming on to him. Maybe Renault was wrong. Maybe Poe had been right about him in the first place. And they were in the middle of a fucking Army base, for fuck's sake; it felt like the trees had ears.

Maybe if they were just getting coffee somewhere, in civilian clothes, he could consider saying to Finn, _Maybe I could prove that there's nothing wrong with me._

 

"About...?" Finn prodded.

"It's just. Some people worry about a trend toward medicalizing diversity, you know? And I think we could also be looking at how diversity is normal and natural."

That was a vague, cop-out answer, and Finn responded appropriately:

"I didn't know that was really in contention."

That was an understatement.

"I don't mean like, diversity _of_ species. I mean, diversity _within_ species. Like..."

Like how, once people had started looking, it was hard to find taxa that _didn't_ display some kind of sexual fluidity, under the right circumstances.

"Okay. Like, a personal example. Here's me, right?" Poe pointed at himself.

"Okay."

"And there's my cousin Marina. We're first cousins, right? Real close. And she's, like, _so_ feminine. She's curvy, and busty, and just _bubbly_ , you know? When people describe girls as bubbly? She's like, the Latina version of Bubbles from the Power Puff Girls."

Finn laughed.

"And she's into it. Into the fashion and hair and makeup, and stupid movies and cookie-cutter pop songs, and she just loves it, you know?"

"Wait, did you just call rom-coms stupid?"

"Yeah?"

" _Hmf_ ," Finn sniffed.

_Oh? Interesting._

"Wait, are you into that stuff?"

"We're not talking about me."

"Okay, but we need to address this movie thing at some point, if we're going to continue to work together."

Finn cleared his throat dramatically. " _So_. Your cousin Bubbles."

"Right." Poe smiled. "So she's super girly, and super into it. But she's the one that drew the fuzz card." Poe rubbed his own, smooth chin. "Muzzie, chinnie, unibrow, the whole nine."

"That's not that unusual."

"She knows that. And she has a good attitude about it. Well, _now_ she does. We joke about it-"

 

Electric cold rippled across his flesh, a shock, like when a shadow moves in the dark, or a bird flies in front of the windshield. It was a warning, seeing in a flash that he'd been rambling. He'd gotten way too close to saying _We joke about how ironic it is. How science needs to hurry up and invent follicle transplant technology._

How Marina had taken him out for his twenty-first birthday, and they'd gotten hammered, and ended up crying together, because she had a friend whom electrolysis had left with acne-like scars along her jaw, and Poe had heard about people that started injections and got really obnoxious, and they didn't want those things for themselves, and they both felt so...

 _Hopeless_ wasn't the right word, because they were both young and smart and attractive, and had plenty of prospects for the future, and they really had nothing to cry about, really; life was good for both of them, but...

 

Finn saw the smile fall from Poe's face, saw her freeze, staring down the empty dirt road. He waited, with the open question on his face, for Poe to figure out what to say.

"We, um. We joke about how different we are."

"Mmm, yeah. I don't think I would describe you as _bubbly_."

"No," Poe agreed.

"So that's the kind of stuff you want to study? That kind of... diversity?"

"Yeah. Something like that.

"So, like..."

 _It's okay_ , Finn told himself. _It's cool._ _You saw her with Salas. She's definitely queer. Just say something dumb about bonobos or gay elephants or something and see where it goes_.

Finn wanted to ask, but his heart pounded just thinking about it. He knew there were people out there looking for some biological bases for sexuality. Was that what Poe meant? The so-called gay gene? Finn wasn't sure he believed in it. He wasn't sure he _wanted_ to believe in it.

_Tell me, Poe. What are the odds? Is there a gene? Tell me, so I can tell my dad. Was this the plan that some god had for me? Or did my mom just drink from the wrong well when I was a six week-old fetus? Do you know? Does anyone know?_

 

But the crunch of gravel spared him from having to say anything.

 

* * *

 

The team from Utah were an E5 and an E3. The former took one look at the two E4s in front of him and relaxed.

"Where's your daddy?" he asked.

"You're looking at her." Finn jerked his thumb toward Poe.

The guy chuckled and introduced himself as Lee, and the other as Rosa. Poe asked if they had a topo map. _Sure_ , Rosa laughed, a low sort of laugh that suggested a joke in the offing. She handed them a mottled gray sheet; it looked like maybe a tenth-generation copy of what might once have been an actual map.

"Gee, thanks."

"That's what they gave us."

"So you guys got a plan?" Lee asked.

"I was gonna say we go right and you go left, and we meet in the middle?"

"Well." Lee began with a certainty that made them wonder why he'd even asked. "I think we're gonna hang back here for now and go over the task objectives."

Hang back and _snog_ , he meant. They looked to Rosa, verifying that she was a willing participant in this plan, and shrugged. The fact was, neither of them was eager to get to know the pair. And it _was_ a beautiful day.

And.

There was so much to talk about.

So they topped off their canteens and picked out their favorite MREs. As they stuffed them into one another's lumbar packs, Lee approached them with two cans of Coors. _Find a nice spot to chill_ , he suggested. _See you guys around 1600_.

"Thanks, Lee!" Finn accepted the cans cheerfully and stowed them with the food. They winked at Rose, told her to have fun with the paperwork, and crawled between the bars of the gate into the vast, open field.

 

* * *

 

They skirted the edge of the range, close to the shade but not in it. They hiked in awkward silence for maybe a hundred meters, getting used to the terrain: dense prairie grass that got shot to hell a few times a year, deceptively uniform at a distance but cloddy and hummocky up close. It was pretty shitty for walking in, and after a very short while they gravitated toward the woodline, where the ground was more even.

"Can't believe those guys are missing out on _this_ ," Poe scoffed.

"What do you think they're doing?"

"Buddy, you know what they're doing."

"Knockin' boots and drinking shitty, fashy beer."

"Yeah- wait, you took some!"

"To be cool, man. I'm not gonna drink it."

" _Cool_? What is this, high school?"

"We have to work with them again! I don't want them thinking we're, you know."

"Killjoys with stick up our asses?" Poe suggested.

Finn laughed. "I was going to say _judging_ them."

"I am judging!"

"But they don't need to know that."

"Shit. I'm gonna wonder, now."

"Wonder what?"

"How you're judging _me_."

"Haven't decided," Finn shrugged. His teeth just peeked out of a sly little smile that Poe really wouldn't mind seeing more of.

 

* * *

 

They stopped every few minutes to sketch in the map. They picked out a site for one of the easter eggs in the north-east corner of the range, in the shadow of a tall, overhanging hummock, and marked it with a red X on the map-in-progress. With one-third of their task accomplished, they took a break in the shade. Poe kneaded a packet of peanut butter, while Finn divided up the broken shards of a ration of shelf-stable crackers.

"You think they're still doing it?"

"I think they did it, and now they're bored and wish they'd come."

"Meow."

"Uh-huh." Finn hissed and clawed the air.

Poe pulled a bite away from his mouth. "Don't make me laugh while I'm eating!"

"Just because _you're_ still on probation doesn't mean _no one_ can have fun."

"I'm off probation! This is lunch!"

"This is a _snack_."

"Oh my god. I didn't know I was gonna need a _lawyer_ for this mission."

 

* * *

 

They picked a second spot in a dry, rocky rill cutting into a slope, just before it narrowed to where the overhanging weeds met and obscured it. They marked the spot, and then Poe moved downhill to see a rock about a horse, while Finn went uphill to to have the same conversation with a tree. Afterward, they hiked along the uphill, western edge of the range. From a rise, they spotted a likely hiding spot in the southeast corner. They still had a _lot_ of time, though, so they didn't make for it directly. They didn't say it out loud, but they were both scoping out spots for a nap.

 

They found a nice, flat shady spot, a little break in the treeline to the southwest. They kicked around on the ground for rocks and thorns, and dropped their web gear. They settled against a thin-barked tree.

"Coffee?"

"Maybe after a li'l nap."

"You could always have a nice, hot beer."

"Mmm. Hot, homophobic, union-busting beer. Yum."

"But it _tastes_ so good!" Finn made a face.

They made electrolye mix instead, and drank it with a cigarette.

"Know what kind of tree this is?" Finn asked.

"Hornbeam, I think."

The forest ringing the range was scrubby and drought-tolerant. Mostly live oak and locust- both the catsclaw in the understory, waiting to snag the flesh, and the vicious, prehistoric honey locust, with its foot-wide nests of thorns that branched and re-branched, fractal-like, thorns on top of thorns. Sharp and long enough to easily pierce a running shoe; Poe imagined they'd evolved to resist the browsing of mastodons. A few cedars dotted the open range. They'd obviously been used as unofficial targets, and had regrown stunted and at strange angles, like life-sized bonsai.

 

Poe yawned and rolled his blouse up for a pillow, and laid in the crunchy leaf litter. He took his sunglasses off and pulled his cap down over his eyes. He wondered if Finn would follow suit, and where. Close enough to talk, he hoped.

When Finn stretched out just a foot away, Poe felt a kind of happiness he didn't feel very often in uniform. He didn't believe in fate, or even _luck_ , but so far this trip had been... fortuitous.

"Hey. Finn. Thanks for doing this with me."

"You kidding? This is the skatest gig I've seen in a while."

"Yeah, pretty sweet." Poe didn't point out that Finn hadn't known that when he said yes. He didn't want to be _gay_ about it.

"You never finished telling me about what you want to study."

"I mean, there is no finish, right? I just have some ideas, and who knows where they'll go. If I even get the chance. Anyway, your turn to spill."

"Pssh."

"Tell me more about Mercury."

"Okay, well, you're a scientist-"

" _Student_."

"Right. So sometimes- this is dumb, but- sometimes I call her Madame Curie. Get it? As in, Mer- _cury_?"

Poe pushed his cap back and turned to look at Finn. Finn kept his eyes covered, but there was a little twist to his lips, and it was adorable. He blinked and stared, but Finn didn't move.

" _Finn_."

"Pretty lame, huh?"

"That. Is the coolest thing I've ever heard."

Finn laughed. "I'm not sure you have the most conventional idea of what's _cool_."

"I don't, true." Poe pulled his cap back down, and yawned again. "You know what this means, though?"

"What?"

"It means you can't say _shit_ about _my_ sense of humor."

Finn groaned.

"Strap in, buddy. And don't forget to tip your server."

"I did this to myself."

"You did."

"Have you always been like this?"

    _Yes.  
_

"That could mean a lot of things, Finn. None of which matter, since we're supposed to be talking about _you_ right now."

"So close."

"Nice try, though."

 

Finn was quiet for a long time, and Poe didn't push. It was really nice out here. A little warm, maybe. It would have been significantly nicer if he weren't in uniform, if he could breathe freely, if the sweat could dry evenly across his ribs. Waxy oak leaves rattled in the breeze, and the scarred, poisoned range buzzed with horny insects: katydids, grasshoppers, wasps and leafhoppers. It was nice.

 

"Why Poe?" Finn asked eventually.

"Why what?"

"Just, why _Poe_? It's kind of a stretch."

"Ah. Well. You're gonna have to tell me a lot more about you before we get into that."

"Kay. What do you want to know?"

"Well. You don't hear a lot of people around these parts saying _fuck religion_. So I guess I'm kind of curious about that."

Finn sighed.

"For what it's worth. I have friends that have had some pretty bad experiences," Poe assured him.

"It wasn't that bad. It's not what you're thinking."

"But it wasn't good?"

"It was. When I was little. I always felt like I was a little weird, you know? Different. I mean, I know a lot of people feel that way when they're little. People you wouldn't guess. I'm not saying I'm special or anything."

"Mm-hm."

"So my church. They put a lot of stock in your personal relationship with Jesus, you know?"

"I've heard of that. Like he's your BFF or something."

"Yeah. I could tell him anything. I could tell him everything I couldn't say to kids in school, or my sister or anyone."

"Doesn't sound so bad."

"He was really important to me. I would have been really lonely without him."

"Mmm. So what happened?"

"You remember 1993? When the Mississippi flooded?"

"Course. Were you guys affected?"

"No, no. But afterward, we had this guest pastor. He'd been doing relief work. He talked about how tough it was, and how tempting it was to give in to despair. How faith gave them the strength to keep going, even when it seemed futile by any rational measure."

"Sounds powerful."

"Yeah. And he talked about love, and about meeting these volunteers from all over the country and just trusting and loving one another as brothers and sisters in Christ, and it just sounded so beautiful. Like this muddy, smelly, flood-torn mess was just like, heaven on earth for them, you know?"

"Jesus, Finn." Poe wiped his eye. "You're gonna make me cry."

"I knew then what I wanted to do with my life. I was certain. I _felt_ that strength of God's love and acceptance. It was the happiest week of my life."

"What happened," Poe whispered.

"Next week, our pastor was back in the pulpit."

Poe wanted so badly to take Finn's hand, but he didn't dare disturb where he was going.

"Back with the same old story. How the floods were a warning from an angry god to a nation that had lost its way, that had accepted sin, that had elevated sin. That the church itself was harboring sin. And I felt like... like everyone could see me. Like the eyes of the whole congregation were on me, like this collective will just wanted me _out_. Like the fucking _Amityville Horror_ , I could practically hear them thinking _get out, you don't belong here._ "

Poe touched Finn's elbow, slid his hand down to squeeze his hand, and Finn squeezed back.

"I'm sorry, dude. I'm really sorry."

"Anyway, I couldn't just walk away overnight. I tried to make it work, for a while. But the more I saw guys like that on the TV, preaching that bullshit to a mass audience, and actually _reaching_ them, the more I just. I just got so pissed. In the end, all I could do was say _fuck you_ to the whole thing."

"There's other kinds of churches."

"I know. Maybe someday. I don't know."

They squeezed hands again and let go.

"I know you probably know people that have been through worse."

It was close enough to acknowledgment that Poe felt it, like exhaling a last little bit of breath.

"I don't know if that's the way to look at it. We all come from different places, and experience makes us who we are, you know?"

"Experience and DNA, huh?"

"And maternal hormones, maybe."

"And environmental hormones."

"And this lamp."

"And the chair."

They smiled and took deep breaths, and stared up at the wasps and shiny little bees buzzing in the tree above them. Which, for the record, was a _hop_ -hornbeam, but Poe had never claimed to be a botanist.

 

* * *

 


	8. Improvements

* * *

 

The shoe finally dropped the next morning.

Finn didn't know SGT Prescott that well; he was a comms guy. Middle-aged and overweight, he looked like someone you'd expect to be staying in the doghouse, but Finn had never heard a peep out of him. He plodded to the tent flap in his underwear, yawning and scratching, and stood there for a while sniffing out a forecast. Finn was only half-dressed when he heard a rough, disbelieving curse.

"You're a _female_."

"You talking to me?" Poe guessed.

"There a problem, Sergeant?" Larkin was right there in the guy's face, like he'd been waiting for it.

"Yeah, there's a friggin' problem. The problem is, I would'na been walking around in my shorts, burping and farting and scratching my belly if I knew-" he stammered, trying not to swear again. "If I knew freakin' _females_ were watching."

"Ain't watching, man." Poe drawled. "Ain't _try'na_ look at yer belly."

"Ain't nobody try'na look at that," Finn echoed.

"You think I don't know that? Bad enough I got the wife on my case at home, now I gotta suck it in at freakin' summer camp? Jeezus." The guy stumped back to his cot, pulled a tee-shirt on, and came right back. He wasn't yelling, but he was making a lot of noise with his hands.

"Look, I got no problem with females in the military."

"You sure about that, Sergeant?" Larkin stood with his arms crossed, like a bouncer.

"We got female pilots, female mechanics, females in the chain of command. Hell, there'll be females in the infantry before ya know it."

There was the sound of several exasperated grunts; they'd all heard rants like this before.

"Hell, I don't even have a problem being in _Clinton's army_."

"That is _irrelevant_ , Sergeant," Larkin snapped.

"And look, I know it don't make no difference when you're young and... and good-looking, and in the prime of your life." He waved around at the group; Larkin responded by preening and flexing his biceps. "Male, female, whatever. Whoever's ass you wanna grab, I don't care."

The four enlisted soldiers in the corner protested in rapid succession:

"Whoa, there, Sergeant!"

"Too much information!"

"Ain't no grab-ass going on here."

"This ain't the fucking Navy."

Prescott kept his attention to Larkin, as the apparent spokesman for the group. "Just you wait, blondie. You're young now. But you're soft around the edges. I can see it in your face. Just like me when I was your age."

"Damn, Sergeant, that's _cold_."

"You, too," he said to Finn. "You think you're gonna look like that forever?"

"Like?"

"Like _that_." He threw his hand in Finn's direction. "You think you're gonna be different. You think you're gonna stay in shape when you're my age."

"Well, I wasn't gonna. But now that I've been visited by the Ghost of Christmas Future..." he gestured at the guy's belly.

The guy actually laughed at that. "You do that kid. Do it for your wife, thirty years from now."

"Thanks for the advice, man."

"Listen, sweetheart."

Poe drew back, affronted, like _I know you're not talking to me like that, asshole_.

"No offense, okay? You ain't doing nothing wrong. You just keep doing what you're doing."

"Versus what, exactly?"

"Look, I'm sorry. No one told me. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Fine. Thanks." Poe turned away to lace her boots, clearly done with this conversation.

"And you keep doing what _you_ do, Sergeant," Larkin added, "but no one's gonna complain if you keep your shirt on."

The guy flipped him the bird over his shoulder as he strolled back to his cot.

 

* * *

 

Harding and Johnson sat with them at breakfast. Harding talked through the whole meal about how they were right, that an integrated force was the future, comparing women in the ranks to racial integration in the fifties. Johnson met Finn's eyes, conveying a kind of blank tolerance. It wasn't that the guy was saying anything wrong. He was talking in familiar platitudes, insufficient but grounded in good intentions. No, the weariness in Johnson's eyes wasn't about _what_ Harding was saying. It was about: _Oh my god does he ever shut up? Is he going to be like this the whole trip?_

Harding moved on seamlessly to anecdotes about some of the women he'd served with. He seemed to take a certain pride, just this side of glee, in talking more frankly than was really necessary about women and their bodily functions, revealing neither titillation nor squeamishness, like it was a skill he'd mastered.

He seemed like a guy with a lot to share.

 

* * *

 

After chow, the pair were pulled for a pretty boring job- converting the aircraft from the cargo configuration to the troop carry configuration, in preparation for exercises with an infantry unit from Oklahoma. It was boring, but a couple of the pilots hung out chatting with them as they worked.

It was nice enough, until CPL Graves found them. It was strange to see her outside of Admin- it was strange to see her outside at all, really. Her distaste for any kind of work that got one's hands dirty was something she expressed at every opportunity. She took about two steps up the cargo ramp, wrinkling her nose at the smell of hydraulic fluid. Her Army twang was exaggerated to the point of insouciance; it sounded like she was asking for _Speckless Dammerang_.

"If they want you to move." Finn didn't say _we're sticking together_ out loud, but he hoped Poe could see it in his eyes. "I meant it about staying with the kitchen crew, if they'll let us."

"Thanks, Finn." Poe smiled. "See you soon."

 

* * *

 

The XO wasn't there, but the guy from that morning was waiting in his office. As soon as he saw Poe he put his hands up.

"It wasn't me. Honest."

Poe believed him. He didn't seem like that kind of guy. But he knew someone who did.

"I know, man."

The guy looked him over, noting how quickly Poe had agreed with him.

"You know who it was, though."

"I have an idea."

"You gonna tell me?"

"Pssh. What do _you_ think?"

The guy laughed to himself.

"What's so funny?" Poe asked.

"Nuthin."

"I do have a sense of humor. It just functions better when I'm awake."

"Okay. Well, I was about to say _good man_ to that. And then I thought, you'd _really_ think I was an asshole if I said that."

"Ha. Maybe."

"But. _Good woman_ just doesn't sound right."

"Mmm. That kind of has... connotations."

"It's got kind of a Tammy Wynette sound to it. I'm more of a Loretta guy."

"Huh. Guess you can't be _all_ bad, then."

"Shit, I didn't think kids your age even knew who she was."

"Not much choice. My dad's a big fan."

"Really? A lot of guys think she's kind of..."

"Assertive?"

"Yeah. I think that's what I like, though."

"I gotta assume my dad would agree. Seeing as how he married my mom."

"She means business?"

"Oh yeah."

The guy nodded, as if that explained a lot. It was a pretty superficial insight, but Poe didn't say anything. They'd reached this little piece of common ground; the trick now was to hold it.

The lull stretched to the point of awkwardness; Poe checked his watch just as the guy turned to look at the tent flap. Their eyes met briefly, and they slumped in their chairs.

"Prescott." The guy stuck out his hand. "Call me Scotty."

"Poe Dameron. Just don't call me late to dinner."

"Okay, _grandpa_ ," Scotty groaned as they shook hands. "Is that Po, like the river?"

Poe smiled. Maybe this guy was alright after all.

 

They made some small talk about their MOSs and about Poe's studies and Scotty's kids, and eventually Scotty worked in another apology. Poe could honestly see where the guy was coming from, that he had been surprised and embarrassed. But apologizing for how he looked was too close to apologizing for who he was. Instead he talked about Bravo's integrated quarters, and how he, at least, had never seen any serious issues with it. They agreed that the two units should probably train together more often.

There was another lull while they let the mutual agreement solidify between them. After a moment, Scotty turned to the tent flap again, with his hand cupped to his mouth.

"Okay, Lieutenant! It worked! We're buddies now! You can come in now!"

They waited, grinning at one another.

"You've heard of leadership in action?" Poe asked. "I guess this is leadership _inaction_."

Scotty winced and shook his head. "Nevermind- I take back anything nice I said about you."

 

* * *

 

"Hey. Heard you could use some help."

Finn looked up to see Rivera standing there, looking sheepish. He looked behind him automatically, to see if McCollough was with him, but he shook his head.

"They gave me a break. Lopez said you might need help."

"Yeah, sure. Just about done here, but we gotta do four-nine, too."

 

They moved to the second aircraft and set to work in silence. Finn waited for Rivera to ask where Poe was, but he didn't ask. Because he already knew, Finn realized. He wanted to know _how_ he knew, but he he didn't want to ask. But after a few minutes, the tension was too much.

"Did something happen? That you wanna talk about?"

"Naw."

Finn waited while Rivera finished tightening a bolt.

"We were with fucking Pickett. Those two got together, and." He threw up his hands angrily. "They just wouldn't fucking shut up."

"Fuckin soulmates, huh?"

"Fucking match made in hell."

"Who's Pickett's buddy?"

"Kenny. He don't care. If you ain't talking sports he ain't even listening."

"Talks about politics sometimes."

"Same thing."

"I guess."

 

They were on the last row of harnesses when Warrant Officer Deutsch returned with a fresh thermos and plopped down on one of the troop benches.

"Shit, I must be getting dyslexic."

"Why's that?" Finn humored him.

Technically, the pilot was supposed to get a _Sir_. But, like most of them, he shrugged it off, using proper military etiquette mainly to express discomfort. If he called you _Specialist_ , it meant you'd better double-check your work, or better yet call a TI, because something about it was making him nervous. And if one of the NCOs called him _Sir_ instead of _Dutch_ , it indicated pretty strong disagreement.

"Well, that's Joe there, helping ya. But I coulda sworn it was _Poe_ ten minutes ago."

That... wasn't how dyslexia worked. But the pilots, especially the older ones, tended toward an avuncular sense of humor, so Finn chuckled along.

"What are you saying, Dutch?" Rivera teased back. "You saying we all look the same to you?"

"Aw, shit. Now I'm in trouble."

"Maybe lay off the _pasteles_ for a few weeks," Finn suggested. " _Maybe_ there'd be a resemblance."

"You calling me fat, chubby cheeks?"

Finn gasped in mock offense.

"And he ain't talking about your face!" the pilot chortled.

"I'll have you know, the ladies love this ass." Technically, that wasn't a lie. Just a... misdirection.

"I'll bet the boys like it, too." Rivera leered at him, and it had nothing to do with Finn personally. Guys said stuff like that all the time.

"Oh, you know what the boys like, do you?"

"Nope," the pilot interrupted. "No one's getting you and Dameron mixed up." He said it with that leading tone, begging them to ask him why. Amateur fucking comedians, these guys.

"Why's that?"

"Dameron keeps a sharp haircut. You're getting a little shaggy there, my friend."

"Hey, my girlfriend likes it."

There was a pause, and then the other two laughed, filling in the unspoken punchline- that that was probably what Poe would say, too. Finn felt every note and beat in the exchange, not just in his ears but on his skin and in his chest; he could almost _see_ the levels of camaraderie versus phobia rising and falling, like an equalizer on a stereo.

He didn't detect anything really mean-spirited, there, just soldiers entertaining one another with idle banter. Sometimes it was more about the wordplay than anything else.

"Next you'll be telling me I need a closer shave."

"Yeah, ask her what her secret is. Wish I knew it." The pilot scratched his jaw.

Finn let himself relax. These guys were fine. It was fine.

 

They finished, and found SGT Lopez with the two crew chiefs and another pilot standing in a knot, looking conspiratorial.

"Whaddya say, Dutch?"

"I like 'em." He jerked his thumb at the two enlisted guys, as if he'd just met them. The chiefs grinned like cats.

"You guys have been gunners before, right?" Lopez asked.

" _Hell, yeah_." Rivera was psyched.

"Wanna show these Oklahoma boys a good time?" Dutch's hand landed heavily on Finn's shoulder and shook him a little.

"Yeah, let's show 'em how it's done."

"Alright. Go on up and check out a couple of sixties. You got half an hour. _Don't eat_." Chief Weh grinned absolutely wickedly.

 

* * *

 

They passed a couple of other techs while they were checking out flight helmets and M-60s. No one had seen Poe, but they promised to tell her where they'd gone, and that Finn hadn't ditched her intentionally.

"Don't go falling for her, man," he was advised. "You're not her type."

"I know. I'm just being a good buddy."

"Aight. Don't get sick up there."

"Me? Pssh." Finn slapped his stomach. He _never_ got airsick.

 

* * *

 

It was a near thing, actually. The pilots really did show the Oklahoma unit a good time, flying low and banking hard, and Finn was glad he was in the open door, with the gun bar to cling to, and the harness that reached just far enough for him to puke out the door if he needed to.

At the first hard bank, a couple of unsecured items rolled across the floor, and Chief Weh joined the platoon sergeant in cussing the unit out like a goddamned drill sergeant. He was about as mild-mannered as they come, and Finn had never _seen_ him like that; it was a little freaky. But a moment later his soft, half-squelched laughter came across the intercom, and the pilots joined in. They were having a blast, clearly, sticking it to the infantry.

Alright, then. That was the kind of team spirit Finn could be on board with. It was even funnier when a couple guys started to look green, and Weh bellowed at them that they _dare_ not puke in his aircraft. They obediently doffed their kevlars and held them in their laps, ready to catch anything that might come up. They made it to their bivouac with their meals intact, but they stumbled down the ramp, a far cry from the group that had hustled out of the woodline in neat, intersecting tactical formation.

Afterward, the pilots circled lazily over the base. It looked like there were maybe four units training in the area- maybe there were more, but they actually knew how to do camo properly? He could see their airstrip, and what must have been Utah. He smiled to himself as they flew over the gunnery range, where he and Poe had been hiking and talking just yesterday. It wasn't even that far from camp, as the crow flies. But it seemed like a world away.

 

* * *

 

They turned in their machine guns and headed back to camp. Finn stopped and put his arm out, halting Rivera, so he could take a mental snapshot of what he was seeing:

Poe was standing there in an untucked tee shirt, with a steel wheel hoisted on her shoulder, watching Prescott. The sergeant had his arm out, measuring something with his fingers. The space around the tent had been considerably improved- a new wedge of camo stretched out over crates and spools grouped into makeshift picnic tables.

If Poe was here, it must mean they hadn't kicked her out. And the two of them seemed to be working together, which was good. _And- just look at the two of them_. Poe was the picture of patience, holding up the heavy wheel, with the other arm dangling at her side, like a guy in a Sears commercial holding an end table while his girlfriend decided where to put it. Dirt smudged her forearm, and her triceps- well. Honestly, if it weren't for the line of a sports bra, clear through her sweat-damp army brown tee shirt... it stood out where it spanned the valley of her spine, impressively deep for a chick, even a butch-ass dyke like Poe. _Jesus and Mary_ , he thought. Poe fucking _worked the fuck out._

Rivera had paused long enough. He pushed past, and Poe and Scotty turned at the sound. They were smiling; Poe looked happy to see him.

"How'd it go up there?"

"No one puked." Finn shrugged.

" _Barely_. Bitches think they're so tough." Rivera scoffed, referring to the infantry.

"Hey, let 'em have _something_ ," Scotty chided, with distinctly fake generosity. "They're too dumb to do anything else."

"You guys did all this?"

"Them two held poles for like, a minute." Poe nodded toward the sound of digging around the corner. Rivera went to check it out, but Finn paused.

"So, does this mean...?"

"For now, I guess. They were kinda non-committal."

"They'll come around," Scotty muttered. And, well, _that_ was interesting.

"You guys get assigned to this?"

"Naw. We just didn't want to look like we weren't busy."

 

They followed Rivera around the corner, where Harding and Johnson were digging a trench.

"What is this, indoor plumbing?"

Harding showed his teeth, that weird, shiny, not-quite-malicious smile of his. "Finn thinks we're laying pipe back here."

"Ain't laying no pipe with your cracker ass."

"Das racist, yo."

Johnson looked at Finn with that same deadpan stare from that morning, _you see what I have to put up with?_

"S'okay. I get it, bro. Finn's more your type."

Rivera laughed. "We was just saying how Finn's got a nice butt!"

"Alright then. I will talk to you dummies when you're not so horny." Finn turned on his heel, ears echoing with his choice of words, with the absence of what anyone else would have said: _I'll talk to you faggots when you're not so horny._

"Did you just call me a _dummy_? What are you, five?"

"No, I'm this many." He turned and shot them two middle fingers, and went back out to sit on the new "furniture." Poe followed. They pulled out their smokes, and Poe offered to share her Diet Mr Pibb.

"These fucking yayhoos," Finn sighed.

"They don't mean anything."

"I know."

He did know. They joked like this all the time. The casual, low-grade gay-baiting served a purpose in social cohesion. It had more to do with releasing tension and expressing _esprit de corps_ than it did with genuine homophobia. Guys called each other _faggot_ so often that most of the time- _most_ of the time- the word itself hardly meant anything.

Most of the time.

As with the constant racial humor, it was a release valve, and there were lines you didn't cross unless you wanted trouble. It wasn't meant to be hurtful, and it was certainly better than keeping a lid on the tension until it exploded. It was just kind of exhausting, sometimes.

"You know what they're actually doing back there?"

"They won't say. Big secret."

"Baking a cake, huh?"

Poe laughed out loud. "Oh my god, that guy."

"That fucking guy," Finn agreed. He looked up to check that Scotty was still over with the other guys, and than said quietly, "So you guys worked things out?"

"Nothing to work out, really. Just a misunderstanding. He's cool."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I like him."

Huh. That was more of an endorsement than he'd expected. But he supposed it made sense. Poe was obviously out in real life, and probably had been for a while. She must have had to learn how to win people over. And if people liked you, then it was a lot easier to like them in return.

Not that people didn't like him. People were drawn to him. His coworkers trusted and respected him, and girls hit on him _all the time_. He had a lot of friends. Really, he did. But very few of those people knew who it was, exactly, that they were friends with.

"Well, that's great."

"You know what I think?" Poe leaned in. Apparently, _conspiratorial_ was the mood of the day around here.

"What do you think?"

"I think deep down inside-" She glanced over her shoulder. "I think he might be good people."

"Deep down?"

"I mean." Poe gestured around at the makeshift patio. "We like mapped out traffic patterns and everything."

"Traffic patterns? That's the sign of a good person?"

Poe grinned, eyebrows bouncing.

"Wait..."

"Eh? Like a one-and-a-half? Maybe?"

"Uh."

"No?"

"Uhh... no?"

"Yeah, you're probably right." She shrugged easily. "I'm the worst. Fucking rose-tinted glasses. Seriously, ask my roommate. I'm like, notorious. Or... incorrigible. Or... one of those. Both of those. I don't know. I'm full of shit, is what I'm saying."

"Optimistic."

"Optimistically full of shit. Yes."

Finn shook his head. Poe really was optimistic. And so... comfortable. So confident. And happy, and friendly, all the things that came with confidence. God, what was that she'd said about her mom? That she compared her to that teenage heartthrob? And from the way she'd said it- looking so pleased- it wasn't something her mom said to make fun of her. It was a compliment.

He couldn't imagine having that kind of relationship with his parents. He knew some people did, but he would never be one of them; he knew that much. He wasn't jealous. He just wondered what it was like.

"Your folks ever come to visit you at school?"

_Oh shit, did I just say that out loud???_

"Sometimes. Why- oh!"

"Naw," Finn shook his head. "I was just, um."

" _Dude_."

"I'm sorry." Finn demurred again, blushing. "I didn't mean-"

"Dude. Fuck yeah." Poe put the cigarette out and leaned back. "Two words, Finn: _Fuck_ , and _Yeah_."

"Okay." Finn felt himself scratching his neck, blinking and blushing and just exuding shyness.

"Sweet." Poe beamed at him, the matter settled in her mind. "Awesome."

 

Shit, he hardly even knew her. But maybe she did this all the time. After all, she was in college. She probably knew tons of queer kids, ones who were truly estranged. He could just imagine Poe bringing a car full of strays to her parents' for the holidays.

Finn wasn't a stray. He was a _dad_. And if being Curie's dad meant remaining single for the next fifteen years, so that he could stay in her life... he wouldn't say it was a _small_ price to pay, but it was a price he was willing to pay. She was the most important person in his life; he loved her more than he'd ever loved anyone, ever, more than he ever could have imagined loving anyone. It was just... not even a question.

Suddenly, the idea of meeting Poe's parents- the people that had given her the confidence to be who she was- felt _important_ , and he really, really hoped that the invitation was sincere.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Harding and Johnson unveiled the fruits of their labor. They had laid a cable all the way from the generator panel by HQ to the enlisted quarters, to power Harding's laptop computer and portable speakers. He brandished an album full of DVDs.

"We've got _Die Hard, Natural Born Killers, Raising Arizona, Stargate, The Wrath of Khan, Caddyshack..._ "

The reaction was mixed. Some of the guys scoffed at the effort of dragging a _computer_ out into the field, but Harding assured them that this was how they rolled in the regular army. Larkin looked positively disgusted, but that may have had more to do with his general prickliness toward _Sergeant Sean_.

"Let's go see what the girls are up to," Reyes suggested, and they left.

"I _bet_ they wanna watch a movie," Johnson called after them. Some of the older guys just shook their heads at the idea of not being able to go two weeks without entertainment. A bunch of guys went back outside while there was still a little light, to play dominoes or cribbage, which was what had traditionally passed for entertainment in the field.

Those who stayed were enthusiastic, though, and agreed almost unanimously on _Die Hard_. They gathered around the little makeshift entertainment center and tried to get comfortable.

As a viewing experience, it was somewhat lacking. For starters, everyone was inspired to take their boots off and make fists with their toes, which lent a special ambience to the already musty space. Then there was the tiny portable screen, appearing as a shimmery negative image at all but the most direct angles, and the compressed audio blatting and buzzing through the under-powered speakers.

Not that it really mattered; they'd all seen it enough times to know most of the lines by heart. Eventually Poe nudged him, and they gave up and turned in. They didn't need to stay up to watch a movie they'd both seen like four times. It was nice, though, lying there in the flickering shadows, without the pressure to socialize. With everyone focused on the movie, at least they weren't bickering and fronting and trading in the typical off-color humor. It was pretty chill, actually.

 

At the line about _better than getting caught with your pants down_ , Finn felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Poe, eyebrows jumping wildly. She glanced furtively around the dim tent, put her hand to her mouth, and silently enunciated the words _SO GAY_.

Finn stifled a snicker in his hand. Not because it was true- he honestly didn't think there was any such subtext- but because it was such a _Poe_ thing to say, a callback to her earlier confession to being incorrigibly optimistic. And then just a moment later, McClane said _all you have to do is pull the trigger_ , and they both cracked up, smothering their giggles in their sleeping bags.

Finn rolled over and smiled up at the light flickering on the canvas above him, feeling pretty optimistic himself.

 

* * *

 


	9. Listening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get another chance to talk.

* * *

 

It was going to have to happen sometime. Poe had been looking forward to it, and also nervous about it. But here it was already: they had LP/OP that night. Twelve hours alone together, out on the perimeter.

On the one hand, they had become friends real fast, and being out there where they could talk freely would be awesome. On the other hand, he wasn't sure just how honest he should be, just yet. And on the third hand... On the third hand, he had to admit that he liked Finn a _lot_. Like, a _lot_. Which was ridiculous; he could only shake his head at himself for being so dumb and hopeless and romantic and, frankly, inappropriate.

Finn didn't even _know_ , yet. He'd entertained the thought of maybe saying something tonight, but really. The wiser thing would be to wait. If they stayed friends after- which he really hoped they would- they could go out for a beer sometime, someplace Finn could leave if he needed to.

Nope. Nope, they were friends.

Buddies.

Right.

 

* * *

 

At least they had their hands full for the day. They were pulled for an absolute bitch of a job, tracking down a fault in the fire alert system. The sensitive element wound through the engines in a single circuit, maybe half a football field in length if stretched end to end. There was no way to isolate a fault, either. The best you could do was to hope the crew chief had some intuition about it. You just had to splay open the engine like a cadaver and inspect every goddamned inch visually.

They worked well together. Finn had the better understanding of hotspots and stress points, and it _only_ took them three hours to track down a frayed spot in the insulation, where it had been rubbing in a loose anchor bracket.

By then it was lunchtime, and then they had to track down parts- a new section of element, specialty splicing nuts and fresh bushings. After that, it was Poe's job to splice in a new section. Every time he reached his hand down to Finn, every time he asked for a tool or a part, an unintentional innuendo seemed to slip from his lips. 

 

* * *

 

They headed out with a thermos full of real coffee and a pile of snacks, courtesy of Inez. It turned out they were relieving Reyes and Larkin, who hung out with them for a while to talk in the relative privacy of the outpost. They gossiped and traded assessments of their comrades- bitching about some, praising others. They'd been in the field for a week, and Larkin pronounced that he could sure go for a fucking beer right about now. So Finn told him where they'd stowed the offerings from Utah.

"Serious, man? I owe you one."

"Nah. Just don't get caught. And if you do, they didn't come from us."

"You guys are the _best_."

They left to get some chow while it was still hot, leaving Finn and Poe with the advice to check out the weeds beyond a brushy thicket to the east after dusk; the fireflies there were _fucking amazing_.

 

They scoped out the area, getting their bearings. The listening post was big enough for two, but there was also a little old-school pup tent. The overnight watch would typically take turns sleeping, three or four hours at a time, or however they cared to split it up.

They wandered separate ways to scout out and claim spots to dig shitholes, so they wouldn't have to fuck around in the dark, later. Finn returned with a report of an excellent spot to watch the sun rise in the morning, which didn't help the romantic nonsense in Poe's head.

Satisfied with their recon, they leaned their weapons against a tree, dropped their helmets in the dirt, and sat on the low wall of sandbags for a smoke break. They agreed that Reyes and Larkin were real good guys.

"Good eggs, my dad would say."

"Most people are," Poe mused. "Once you get to know them."

"Most people? Really? What, is Poe short for Pollyanna?"

"Oh my god you shut your mouth!"

"Sorry," Finn laughed. "I'm sorry. I'll never say that again."

"Say what again? Those words were never spoken."

"What words?"

"Exactly."

Poe smiled, showing that he could take a joke, really.

"Sorry," Finn said again. "Hey, you heard anything about any pranks in the works?"

"Not a peep, have you?"

"No, nothing."

"Would you tell me if you had?"

"I don't know, would you tell me?"

"I don't know." Poe looked up, asking the sky for guidance. "That's a tough one. Talk about divided loyalties."

"Loyalties?" Finn beamed at him, and maybe they were kidding around, but his smile was so bright, and his eyelashes were _ugh_ , doing that _thing_.

"Yeah, you and me, man. My buddy. My number one AT homey. I ain't lie to you."

"Yeah? So can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

_Fuck._

"You think Salas is really into you?"

"Naw, man. She's just trying to keep me out of Torrey's way. That's _your_ problem, bro."

Finn made an uncomfortable sound, and then sighed.

"If it comes down to it, I was gonna tell her I'm trying to get back together with Michelle, and I don't wanna fuck it up. Would you, like, back me up on that?"

"Course, buddy. That's what I'm here for."

"Nice, thanks."

"Besides. They been hanging out with them two." Poe nodded back in the direction of camp, indicating the pair that they'd just relieved. "Maybe that'll work out."

"Yeah. That'd be cool."

They watched a pair of Blackhawks fly over, and joked about the guys from Utah, how they probably couldn't wait to get their hands on some booze as soon as they were across the state line.

Something was on Finn's mind, he could see. Well, that made two of them. Finn excused himself to the little generals' room- to the bushes to take a piss- and when he came back, settled on the ground, leaning back against the sandbags. Poe pulled out a canteen and joined him.

"I'm still really curious," Finn admitted.

"About?"

"I mean, it's none of my business. But if you're gonna be a nineteenth-century goth, why not Ambrose? It could be Rose, for short."

"Ah. Well."

"You don't have to tell me, really."

"Well for one thing, I'm not a catty bitch."

Finn chuckled at that.

"And... do I _look_ like a Rose?"

"No, I guess you don't."

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry. It's none of my business."

"So the short version."

"Really, you don't have to."

"The short version is: it's a character I played. Some of my friends started calling me that in real life, and... I dunno, I just liked it. It just felt right."

"Wait, you were in Drama Club, too?"

"Oh, no, uh."

"Or community theater, or...?"

"Uh." Poe blushed, and Finn just looked at him expectantly. "It was a," Poe mumbled into his knuckles.

"A what?"

Poe sighed. "A D&D character."

"Wait, you? _You_ played Dungeons and Dragons?"

"It's a good game, if you play with the right people."

"Really."

"Really! It's not just about killing giant lizards with battle-axes. You have to think about other characters' motives and prejudices, and you have to play by your- by your character's moral compass, otherwise you'll be penalized. It's actually really cool."

"You're saying you can measure someone's adherence to their moral compass... with dice."

Poe felt the head of steam building up, ready to just ramble at Finn all night about marathon bouts of litigation over alignment. Which would not be cool, obviously, would probably bore Finn to tears. He sighed and let it go.

"You kinda talk it out. If you're with people who are into that. I mean, some people _are_ just all about killing monsters and getting rich. That's true. But not the _cool_ ones."

"Like you?" Finn teased.

"Exactly."

"Huh. So, what was this Poe like? Was she a mighty warrior?"

"He. And he was a bard, _obviously_."

"Oh, obviously."

 _Stop right there_ , Poe reminded himself. _Details never help. Details just turn people off._

"So... did you grow up thinking D&D was like, some evil Satanist plot? Or is that a stereotype?"

"It might be a stereotype, but it's true. It was right up there with heavy metal."

Poe laughed and wailed _"Antichrist-devilschiiild!"_ in high falsetto, throwing devil horns. Finn answered in an equally ridiculous monster growl,

"We are the Knights... in _Satan's Service._ Mwahahahaa."

"Fairies wear boots," Poe added cheerfully, kicking Finn's foot.

"I don't know that one."

"Sabbath? You never listened to them even after you left the church?"

"I mean. I don't have anything _against_ heavy metal... except for how it _sounds_."

"Okay, okay. I guess there's no point trying to convince you that Sabbath is different."

"Is there any point trying to convince _you_ that Sade is different? From the average R &B schlock on the radio?"

"You don't have to! She's a fucking _goddess_."

"Yeah she is."

"Well, alright then. You owe _Paranoid_ a listen."

Finn just sighed.

"You know what I don't get, though?" Poe asked.

"What's that?"

"Why are these Moral Majority types so worried about frat boy party music like AC/DC, instead of, like, fucking Joy Division?"

"You know why." Finn scowled, and all the humor was gone in an instant, snuffed out by the heaviness and bitterness in his expression.

Poe felt the answer in his stomach; he supposed he did know why. But still he ventured, hopefully, "Because they're just not cool enough to have ever heard of them?"

"Because they don't fucking care if losers kill themselves. They don't care if queer kids kill themselves. They only thing they fucking care about is the chastity of their white daughters."

Poe nodded, regretting having brought the conversation down so low.

"Well. Sucks to be someone's white daughter, huh?"

It was a valiant attempt at humor, and Finn offered him a grudging half-smile. They sat glumly for a few minutes, until Poe felt restless. He didn't like dwelling on this kind of stuff. It was true, and important, but he didn't like to wallow in it.

"I'm, ah. Gonna go visit the bushes before it gets dark."

"Sure. You want some hot chocolate?"

"Oh! Yes! Please!" The perfect antidote; instant endorphins.

"Aight. Watch your step back there."

"Ew."

 

 

The instant hot cocoa that came with MREs was objectively terrible, but it was amazing what you could learn to appreciate when there was nothing better around. They did their hourly radio check, and then sat back side by side, not quite touching, sipping the warm, plasticky tasting beverage.

"So what's the long version?"

"Poooooooooooooe."

"Is that like, a defense mechanism or something?"

"Probably."

"Hah."

"Okay." Poe took a deep breath.

"You don't have to."

"So. When I was little. My parents usually called me Nel."

"Like the book riot girl?"

" _No_."

"Or the snobby girl on _Little House on the Prairie_?"

" _No_. One ell. Nel."

"One ell. Got it."

"I mean, a lot of people assumed it was two ells."

"And I bet you corrected them."

"I did. But. There was another mistake a lot of people made."

"What was that?"

"I'd meet someone, and I'd say, _Hi, I'm Nel_. And they'd say, _Hi Neal! Nice to meet you, Neal!_ "

"Really. Even when you were little?"

"Yep. Even when I was little."

"And what did you say?"

_Nothing, if I could help it._

"I dunno. Usually there was someone else there. My parents or someone."

"Hm."

"So."

Deep breath.

"So this house. A few doors down from us."

"Shit."

"No no no. This isn't a bad story."

Finn exhaled, relieved.

"Not like, _bad_ bad, anyway. This elderly couple had lived there. I barely remember them. I remember going with my mom to visit and help them out and stuff. It smelled _so_ bad and I had to pretend not to notice."

"Shit," Finn said again.

"No, no, it was fine. I'm just- I'm telling you the _really_ long version." _Because I'm nervous and not sure I should be telling you this_. "Cause we got all night, right? Gotta kill time somehow."

"Sure. Take your time." Finn's voice was gentle.

"I think they moved in with their kids or something. Anyway, it was empty and overgrown for a long time. And then someone bought it. So I'm riding my bike around, you know. I got cats to talk to and rocks to collect, you know, kid business."

"Yeah."

"And I see the lawn is mowed and the windows are open, and there's this lady weeding the garden. So go right up to her say, _Hi, I'm Nel, I live over there_."

"And she says..."

"Yeah."

"Lemme guess. You didn't say anything."

"I didn't say anything." It came out hoarse. He'd told this story a million times, and this was usually the part where his friends laughed or even cheered, the part where they were admiring or even envious of him for knowing himself so well at such a young age. But here in the middle of the base, surrounded for miles by the mandate _Don't Tell_ , it didn't feel like something to be proud of. It felt like he might be making a huge mistake.

Finn must have heard his breath hitching, because he reached over and took Poe's hand. Poe took a couple of slow breaths, and continued.

"She was single, and I was like, in _awe_ that she bought this house by herself and lived by herself and everything. I mean, it was like 1984, you know?"

"Was she... ?"

"I dunno. Maybe. So I asked if I could help her weed the garden. Which she probably thought was weird, but it was right out there on the street, you know. And people weren't as suspicious back then. So, yeah. She let me."

"Huh."

"She was Swedish, which I thought was like, _so_ exotic, because I'd never met anyone from Sweden before. And because the only, like, female protagonist I ever really got into was Pippi Longstocking."

"Oh yeah, she was a bad motherfucker."

"Yeah. So... it was great. We talked about Pippi, and about real pirates, and we weeded the garden, and picked up all the trash that was stuck in the fence. She taught me some words in Swedish, and I taught her some words in Spanish... it was really fun."

"Fun, huh?" Finn asked, but didn't sound particularly skeptical. It almost sounded like he understood.

"And then of course she wanted to pay me for helping, and I was like, _No! I love gardening! It's fun!_ I don't know why she didn't just call my parents right then and there. It was a different time, I guess."

"Or maybe she thought a kid that wanted to hang out and do chores with her might not feel safe in their own home. Cause a lot of kids don't."

"Maybe. For the record, that was never me. My parents are awesome."

"Yeah, you said."

"Right, yeah."

"So how long did that go on?"

"I dunno- weeks? I stopped there whenever I saw her outside. She had a lot of work to do, you know. I helped her paint the house. She let me use the pressure washer. That was pretty awesome for nine year-old me. She wouldn't let me help her clean the gutters, though. Didn't want me falling off the ladder."

"Oh, she was _definitely_."

"Yeah," Poe laughed. "She probably was."

"So."

"So. Then one day. I come home from school, and my mom's in the kitchen, and she's got the fancy coffee out."

"Fancy?"

"The, um, international flavors?"

"International Delights! Yeah. At my house that was just for company."

"Oh, mine too. So I'm like, who's coming over? And my mom's like, _Just a treat for you and me. I thought we could talk_."

"Oh, shit."

"Oh yeah. And I didn't know what it was about, just that it was something I wasn't gonna like. So I'm super nervous. And when our sugar and chemicals finally cools down enough to drink, she's like, _So, I talked to Ms Carlson today_."

"Oof."

"And she's like, _She said you've been very helpful_ , and I'm like, that's good, right? And there's this pause, and she says, _She thought your name was Neal. Did you know that_?"

"Oof," Finn repeated. "What did you say?"

"I honestly don't remember. I just felt so shitty. I really liked this lady, and I thought we were kinda friends, and she just found out that I'd been lying to her this whole time, you know?"

"What about your mom, though? Was she mad?"

"No. I mean, she's pretty big on honesty, but I don't think that was really the salient topic."

"She wasn't mad about, you know?"

"No. She asked if I wished that was my name. And I was just like, _I dunno_ , because I didn't want to lie to her, too, but I didn't want to say _yes_. I just wanted to go and hide under my bed for a week."

"I'm sorry." Finn rubbed Poe's knuckles with his thumb.

 _I'm going to ask you to do something that might seem really unfair_ , Shara had said.

"She said I shouldn't do that anymore, because it confused people, and sometimes people get really angry when they're confused."

"Well, she's right about that."

"And a bunch of stuff about how the world is unfair to girls, and that making the world a better place is kind of like a job we didn't ask for, but we have to do it anyway."

"Damn. That's a lot to lay on a kid."

"Yeah. And for while I thought she might be right."

"What do you mean, _thought_? The world is totally unfair to girls."

That wasn't what Poe meant. What he meant was that Shara's words had laid heavily on young Penelope, that for years she had analyzed her feelings over and over, almost obsessively, asking herself if she really felt the way she did- that she was supposed to have been a boy- or if she was being selfish, trying to get away with something, trying to sneak onto the winning team.

"Yeah, yeah it is." Poe sighed, feeling real tired all of a sudden. "So then she said... that I should wait and see how I felt when I was older. That the world might look different when I was a teenager. And she asked if I wanted her to call me something else."

"Wow. That's-" Finn pulled his hand away and wiped quickly at his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, it's just. Your mom sounds amazing."

"Try telling that to little me. But yeah." Poe swirled the lukewarm dregs of his cocoa and drank it. In high school, he'd said he was _lucky_. Then in college he'd gotten involved in politics and discourse, and realized that support and acceptance should be the norm, not the exception, so he'd stopped saying that.

"What did you tell her?"

"Just that some of the kids thought my name was Nell, like Nellie Olesen, and I didn't like that. But it wasn't like I had any other ideas."

_Not ones that would be acceptable, anyway._

"At least they didn't call you Penny." The plaintive tone in Finn's voice said he wasn't making fun; he was offering an opening, and Poe jumped right into it.

"Misshed it by _one_ shyllable," he said, in his best impression of Inspector Gadget, earning a laugh from Finn.

      _Go, go, Gadget defense mechanisms!_

"But they started calling me Lope more often, and then in middle school everyone thought it was Lupe, because that's a pretty common name. And that was cool; I could live with that."

Finn had been watching him, studying his face, and now Poe looked back, right in the eyes.  _C'mon, buddy. Are you picking up what I'm laying down, here?_ Because while it wasn't common as a boy's name, it wasn't unheard of, either. 

"That's a nice name. I can see it. You kinda look like a Lupe."

"Well, thanks."

"Shit, I mean... I like Poe, too."

"Uh. Good?"

"No, I mean, you _look_ like a Poe- I mean, you're the only one I ever met. Shit. Not that it matters what I think. Don't listen to me. Shit. I'm sorry."

Maybe Finn hadn't picked anything up, but his stammering was a pretty adorable consolation.

"It's fine, man. Hey, I'm talking myself dry over here. What about you? When did you start using Finn?"

"Oh. My turn, huh?"

"Yep. Come on in, the water's fine."

"Okay. Well, sports, I guess. You know how coaches do that."

"Yeah. What'd you play?"

"Oh, all kinds of stuff. My dad made me try Pop Warner. That lasted a season. Then I did softball, and I actually liked that."

They both laughed, because it was _such_ a stereotype.

"Tennis in middle school."

"Tennis, ooh. Fancy."

"Meh. The coaches were dicks. Then I did track freshman year."

"Were you any good?"

"Of course, _tchaa_."

 _Mmm, I bet you were_ , Poe thought, and then pushed that thought away.

"But then a bunch of my friends went out for Drama, you know."

"Oh yeah. Like half my friends were in Drama."

"And they were all like, _it's so fun, you'd be so good, you'd love it_."

"Huh. You don't seem very... you know, _dramatic_." Actually, Finn seemed downright reserved.

"Well, that's what's so great about it. You get to do all these things that would be totally unacceptable in real life. I mean, D&D is probably like that too, right?"

"Yeah, totally. Totally."

"So yeah. My mom was thrilled, because it was safer than sports. And cause jocks can be real douches, you know. My dad... not so much."

"He thought it was like a wussy activity?"

"Yeah. But one of the older kids told me how he'd handled _his_ dad. He asked him for carpentry advice- you know, asked him about building sets and stuff. So I did- we did _Little Shop of Horrors_ sophomore year, and the sets were fucking _bears_. I asked my dad for help and he actually got super into it."

"Oh, nice."

"I only had a bit part- one of the customers. But apparently it was sufficiently _masculine_ enough for him. Trenchcoat, fedora, nice shoes. I used my _powerful, manly stage voice_."

Poe laughed- not at Finn's stage voice, which was pretty impressive, but at memories of helping his friends pull the wool over their parent's eyes.

"And the other thing is: theater can be a fucking workout, man. It's underrated."

"Oh, I believe you."

"Seriously, I still think we should have gotten a gym exemption."

Poe just shuddered at the thought of gym class, and Finn huffed in agreement.

"What about you? You ever play anything?"

"I wrestled for a season."

"No way! You had a girls' wrestling team?"

"Nope. But it wasn't that big a deal. There were a couple girls in the league already. One of them was actually kind of a favorite. So it wasn't like, super controversial or anything."

"Wow."

"I think they were having trouble getting enough guys for the team. Cause there's all those jokes about it being such a gay sport- guys didn't want to sign up."

"I mean. It _looks_ pretty gay."

"I'm not saying it's _not_ gay."

Finn laughed at that, and Poe pretended to laugh.

There was a funny little irony to it. Lupe had accepted herself as a butch lesbian by the age of fifteen. And once she'd accepted it, she was all in. Proud in her heart, even if she was smart enough to be discreet in public. Maybe she was mad that there weren't more girls' sports, but it wasn't her idea to go out for a boys' team. She'd been recruited, hard. Coach had even taken her parents out to dinner to talk to them and assuage their worries.

So when, at the age of sixteen, she'd found herself getting turned on during practice with the guys, it had precipitated the kind of identity crisis that some of her peers were just starting to go through, the kind she'd thought she'd already faced and conquered. Frankly, it had been a total mindfuck.

"Why just one season?"

"It just wasn't very interesting. I thought I might get some more self-defense skills out of it, but it's all fucking choreographed. Not like, WWF choreographed, not like that. But there's like, certain types of moves, and you get scored on how well you execute them. There isn't much improvisation. Not much to help you out in a dark alley. It's more like playing chess with your body, if that makes any sense."

"Sure, I mean, football can be kind of like that."

"Yeah."

 

Poe felt restless again. It was weird having this conversation here. Not just being on post, but just sitting here together against the little shelter. Usually, when he had this type of conversation, they'd be getting up occasionally to get another drink, or they'd be interrupted by other friends; there would be _something_ to break things up. Once on a long late-night walk, holding hands. Once tangled on a couch, where they could touch and squeeze and offer silent reassurance. Not just sitting here against the sandbags, drinking water, watching shadows closing in across the scrub. The orange glow was long since snuffed from the euphorbia and milkweed, burdock and thistle that grew above the sparse grass.

"Probably need to check in again soon, huh?"

Finn looked at his watch. "On the dot, Dameron. You wanna do it?"

"Sure."

 

Poe scooted over to the bulky field radio.

"Hognose, this is Timothy, come in, over."

_"Timothy, this is Hognose. Any activity? Over."_

"Negative, Hognose. All clear. Over."

_"Timothy, bolo for lightning bugs in your sector, over."_

"Wilco, Hognose. This is the perfect habitat, over."

_"Seriously, it's like a freakin rave out there."_

There was a pause, and Poe tapped the PTT twice fast.

 _"Over,"_ headquarters sighed.

"Timothy over and out."

He set the handset back in its cradle, and then stood up and stretched.

"We should probably walk around again."

"You wanna gear up, or take turns?" Finn asked. Poe frowned down at the pile of gear and weapons. No, he would much prefer to stretch his legs unencumbered.

"Take turns. You can go first if you want."

"Nah, you go. I'll keep watch."

"Thanks."

It wasn't totally dark yet, but it would be soon, so Poe grabbed the flashlight off his web gear.

"You want the NVGs?" Finn offered.

"Naw, you're the one on duty. Just don't shoot me when I come back."

"Yeah, we should have a hand signal, so I know you're not a tango."

"How about this?" Poe flashed a finger-thumb circle.

"Aw, fuck," Finn groaned, and Poe cackled.

"But seriously, don't shoot me."

"Yeah, don't step in a gopher hole, cause I ain't dragging your ass back to camp."

"Fuck no, you're _carrying_ my ass back to camp."

"Get outta here. Go dance with the fucking fireflies."

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to split this up- the next chapter continues from this moment.


	10. Observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picks up directly from the end of the last chapter- it's more like one super-long two-part chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for a very brief mention of food-related aspects of dysphoria. Poe's eating behaviors are healthy and under control, but the calculations are always running in the back of his mind.

* * *

 

Not that he could picture Poe dancing with the fireflies. No; he could picture Poe studying the chemical reactions in bioluminescence and its role in mating behaviour, and reporting back with a hopeful smile and a rock-solid theory that all fireflies are queer.

Finn smiled and shook his head.

 

* * *

 

 _Ugh, you idiot!_ _Why didn't I ask him if he still does any acting?_

That's what he was supposed to have asked. What he would have asked, if he hadn't been so stupidly paranoid about his own side of the conversation. Well, it wasn't _stupid_ to be paranoid. Not here, in this milieu. But it was inconsiderate.

Finn, on the other hand, was _so_ considerate. Like during the incident the other day, with Scotty (who had indeed turned out to be a good egg). Larkin had sprung to his defense, making the confrontation his own. But Finn had stayed at his side, understated but solid, everything Poe wanted from a friend. And then, later, he'd quietly repeated the offer to stay with the mess crew rather than split up. That was the thing that really touched his heart; how could it not?

He couldn't help feeling like some kind of luck or fate had brought them together- not that he actually believed in such irrational, unscientific nonsense. On the other hand, there was a girl in his biochem lab- his _300 level_ biochem lab- who believed that the world was only six thousand years old, so maybe Poe could forgive himself a little sense of kismet.

 

* * *

 

There were these trading cards. Special, holographic ones, real collectors' items. A quarterback passing, a batter swinging. From one angle, Wicket was a fluffy teddy bear, but tilt it a few degrees and he was a warrior, teeth bared and spear in hand. A cute baby dinosaur hatching from an egg turned into a hungry T Rex.

Poe was like that. From one angle, Finn could see that image he'd painted for himself: sharp suit, wingtips, onyx tiepin to compliment her eyes. But if he just tilted his head a little she was still that cute guy from Electrical. He'd thought he'd washed that idea out of his head, but that story from her childhood... that story was interesting.

She wore her masculinity on her sleeve, clearly, and it sounded like she always had. She certainly hadn't minded Torrey and Salas thinking she was a guy. But Finn had also recognized the disengaged, thousand-yard stare on her face when McCollough had insulted her that first night.

Because it was definitely an insult, wasn't it? Hell, even the most tatted-up old trucker-butt dykes in buzzcuts and leather vests didn't appreciate being taken for the inferior of the species, any more than the girls in middle school liked being made fun of for their _man feet_.

It had seemed so exciting at first, the way some people presented in bars. But he'd learned pretty quick that most people didn't want to talk about it, and he wasn't supposed to ask. It just wasn't any of his business. Just as no one owed society any explanation for their gender presentation, they didn't owe it to _him_ , either.

But... he wanted to understand. He wanted to _know_ people; he wanted friends. Okay, he had friends, but he wanted _gay_ friends. Not just acquaintances that he would see once in a blue moon, when he wasn't exhausted from work and didn't have Mercury and could muster up the energy to drive somewhere. Places he was just regular enough to be remembered, but infrequent enough to be invariably greeted with _well look what the cat dragged in._

_Where have you been?_

_We thought you moved!_

_Or worse- got married!_

_Ugh, rude! You wash your mouth out._

What he wanted was a _community_.

Poe had a community, it sounded like. Hell, maybe he should have gone to college, after all.

 

* * *

 

 _What was your favorite role? What was your most challenging role?_ These were not questions Poe needed to rehearse; these were questions that social beings should know to ask. He berated himself as he made his way to Finn's sunrise spot. _Ugh_ , he was such an idiot-

-the sliver of red on the horizon stopped him in his tracks.

 

* * *

 

"Finn! Hey, Finn!"

"Oh, hey! That was fast."

"Grab your weapon. Come with me."

"Shit, what's wrong?"

"Nothing! We just can't leave them unsecured. Come on, you wanna see this."

"Is it the fireflies?"

"Better."

Poe had already shouldered her M-16 and was scooping up the radio, so Finn followed suit. They hadn't gone far when he startled at the sight of glowing red through the trees; it looked like an infantry squad approaching with their night filters fixed. Was this Five-A showing up on them? Or-

"Is that the _moon_?"

"Yeah! C'mon!"

 

They drew up side by side at the little rise, eyes wide at the beauty and strangeness of it. The moon was about a third risen now, looming huge behind the horizon, a red so deep it was almost ghostly, like the black of night was visible through it. It looked so close, like you could fly there on a plane, or maybe land there from a big enough catapult.

 _"It's so big_ ," Finn whispered.

" _That's what she said_ ," Poe replied, in an equally awed whisper.

"Did you bring me out here just to make that joke?"

"Yeah."

Poe didn't laugh, but acknowledged the humor by knocking gently into Finn. The firm ball of her shoulder bumped just below his own, and for a moment he wanted her to linger, to lean. He wanted to tousle her hair, to feel the soft bristle of short-cropped hair against his palm. It had been too long since his hands had felt that, tickling the soft center of his palm and soothing his calluses...

 _Way_ too long, obviously. Great Bast, way too long.

The moon, too, had a kind of holographic quality: it looked like something buoyant rising in the atmosphere, and at the same time intensely _planetary_ , like it was falling from its orbit and about to obliterate the Earth, something from a terrible CGI movie. It brightened from red to orange as it rose. The last few degrees seemed to cling to the horizon, and then it was floating free, already yellow, already merely _large_ rather than impossible.

 _"It's shrinking,"_ Finn whispered, and Poe snickered and nudged him again.

 

They headed back toward the outpost, noting that there were indeed an impressive number of fireflies around. By unspoken agreement, they meandered toward the spot the other soldiers had mentioned.

"We're only in town for the night," Finn reasoned. "Might as well see the sights."

"Any good restaurants in the guide book?"

"I hear there's an absolutely charming little place up the hill."

"Ooh. Might they, by chance, make shitty fake Chinese food?" Poe asked, referring to MRE meal number 7.

"They do! And I hear their beef ravioli is _to die for_."

"Holy crap, look."

The others weren't kidding about a rave; the tall weeds in the clearing were fucking _happening_.

"Look at those horny little buggers."

"Must be mating season."

"They're bugs. They don't have a mating season."

"Sure they do. Anytime it's warm enough to move is mating season."

"Fuckin' sluts."

"Tramps."

"Pre-verts."

"Keep that up and they'll end up knocked up before they're a week old."

"Kids these days."

"They must have had the same bullshit excuse for sex-ed my school did."

"Probably don't even know how to use a condom."

"Probably all think they're _straight_."

Finn couldn't admit why that line made him crack up the way it did. He said it made him picture a closet full of fireflies, which Poe was kind enough to laugh at.

 _Called it_ , he thought. _I so called it_.

 

* * *

 

They weren't actually hungry yet, but Finn assured him that _this place stays open real late. Real popular with the late night crowd_. They poured some coffee instead.

"Want half of my brownie?" Finn offered.

"Nah. Thanks."

Of course Poe wanted some brownie, even if it tasted like chok-lit flavored plastic. But army chow already had too many carbs and not enough protein, and way more calories than he needed. What he _needed_ was a fucking workout. They'd been out here a week and literally no one was doing PT besides a handful of die-hard runners. The only place to do pull-ups was inside one of the aircraft, with solvent vapors in his lungs and heavy work gloves on so he wouldn't cut his hands. He could just _feel_ his muscles atrophying already; it almost hurt.

Anyway, a brownie would just go straight to his big old butt, which he could barely squeeze into Wranglers as it was.

"You sure? It's _shelf-stable_ ," Finn promised, in what sounded like the voice he used to tempt his daughter with Cheerios.

"Naw, really," Poe laughed. "Not a big dessert guy."

 

He'd been bitten by electricity before. Not on aircraft, of course, never as an adult. As a kid, messing around with stuff he shouldn't have been messing around with, without asking for help or reading the directions.

It started slow, warmth and then heat in the fingertips. A tingling in the butt, of all places, and then the knees and the toes and then that sudden jolt of fear, pure biological fear, and then the lights went out, and then he was standing there with his heart racing a million miles an hour.

That was how it felt to slip up like that.

 

But Finn didn't even seem to notice. Finn was grinning wide and saying, "Good thing it's not a big dessert, then." He broke the brownie in half and held up a piece. "It's actually a pretty tiny dessert."

"Ugh, is this what it's like to hang out with _me_?"

"All damn day," Finn said, sadly. Poe took the offering and took a tiny bite. The moon was over the scrubby trees, now, butter-yellow and lighting up the terrain. Back in camp, the movie would be ending soon; half the guys were already asleep. A few stubborn night owls might be talking quietly outside.

"Shit, you must miss Curie like crazy, huh?"

"Yeah. Technically I don't have her again til Friday after we get back. But Chelle said I could come over for dinner Monday night, so. That'll be nice."

"That is nice. I'm glad you guys are still friends."

"I'd say we kinda have to be, but I guess a lot of people aren't."

"No," Poe agreed.

"You miss your roommate?"

"Uh. I guess? I'm sure her and her girlfriend are happy to have the place to themselves."

"Her... girlfriend?"

"Yeah... Oh! Ha ha, no, we're not-"

"Shit, I'm sorry."

"S'alright. Pretty sure everyone else here thinks that, too."

"Pretty sure they do," Finn agreed. "So... _are_ you seeing anyone?"

"Naw, not right now. I was pretty busy during the school year. And, you know. It can be hard to meet people."

"Psh. Tell me about it."

It wasn't that it was hard to _meet_ people. It was... it was complicated. Poe didn't blame anyone. Even the one guy that had slammed his drink down hard enough to turn heads- at least he hadn't thrown it in his face. No one liked feeling blind or stupid, no one liked feeling deceived. No one liked feeling like their own sexuality was being called into question, especially people that had had to fight for it in the first place. No, as long as no one actually _punched_ him, he didn't blame them.

"What about you?"

"Nah."

"Have you... dated much?"

"A little. Not much. I mean, besides girls in high school."

"Lemme guess. You were a perfect gentleman."

"I don't know about _perfect,_ " Finn chuckled. "But Shay brought up the M-word on literally her eighteenth birthday, so I must've been doing something right."

"Whoa, Finn! In demand!"

"I guess. What about you? In high school?"

"Well. I was kind of a... a late bloomer, as they say."

"That's what they say about you D&D types."

Poe laughed, but clarified, "I mean, physically."

"Oh."

"Luz and I started calling it _dating_ summer after freshman year. But it was pretty innocent. Like middle school dating."

"You guys weren't out, were you?"

"To a few people. We just said we were best friends. People joked about us being together, but I think most of them thought they were just teasing."

"Did she ever, like, pressure you?"

"Not... not really. We talked about how weird it was, that it was taking so long. But she was good. She was a good person to be with. Anyway, when I finally, uh, blossomed, at is were. I _blossomed_ into the spitting image of my grandfather."

"No shit? He must be a good-looking guy."

Poe grinned into the dark. "We had this picture of them on their wedding day. And you know how people tell you, _you look like so-and-so_ , but you can't really see it?"

"Yeah, totally."

"Even I could see it. He had long hair back then, too. It was like looking at a picture of myself. Irritated the fuck outta my mom. We'd be arguing over some stupid teenage thing, meals or curfew or something, and she'd be like, _Goddammit, you sound just like my father. Stubborn as a fucking mule_. Which was hilarious, because she's not exactly a patient willow, bending to the breeze herself."

"You don't say."

"Surprise, huh?"

"Huh. So when did you cut your hair?"

"Summer before junior year."

"What did your parents say?"

Poe shifted, rolled his neck, and didn't answer.

"Tell me about _your_ high school. What made girls want to marry you at eighteen?"

"That good, huh?"

Poe sighed. He lit another cigarette and chose his words. It was too nice a night; they were having too good a time to get into it.

"I mean, my dad was worried about kids making fun of me and stuff."

That was the understatement of the decade. Kes had _been_ worried, and not just about teasing. About the hate crimes he read about in the news, about what someone might want to do to his only child. The haircut had _terrified_ him.

"Did they? Make fun of you?"

"Course they did. Kids are dicks."

"Yeah."

"Most of them suck at it, though."

"Suck at making fun of you?"

"Fuckin' amateurs."

Poe looked up at the moon and blew smoke at it, picturing the moment as an Alan Moore panel, which was just another joke, a little one just for himself.

"Anyway, loverboy. Your turn."

"Not much to say. I went out with Vicki for a year and with Shay for a couple years. We had fun. They were both Christians; they were supposed to wait. They both got along with my mom."

"You go to prom?"

"Yeah, both of 'em. You?"

"What do you think?"

"I dunno, you guys could've gone stag and just hung out together."

That was exactly what Poe had said, but Bridget was _outraged_ that they would have to pay ten dollars more for stag tickets, so she'd gone and made a big deal out of it, and...

"That's a story that really needs to be told over a drink."

"I'd like to hear it sometime."

"Well then. I guess we're just gonna have to get a drink sometime."

"I guess we are," Finn agreed.

Poe tried to fight the smile spreading across his face, reminded himself that it wasn't a _date_. Also, he noticed that Finn had deflected again, seamlessly, elegantly. The guy was a fucking Jedi.

"So what was your MO? And does it work on guys?"

Finn snorted. "When you're ready to catch some zees. I'll bore you to sleep with the heady romance of bowling alleys. Bookstores. _Lime phosphates_."

"Oh, buddy. I ain't much for bowling, but a bookstore and a lime phosphate? That's a dream date, right there."

Finn laughed out loud.

"What's so funny?"

"Just picturing what kind of bookstore you'd take a date to."

"Well. I _am_ an adult, so..."

Finn wisely ignored this comment, continuing, "You've got your run-of the-mill mall bookstores, your Waldenbookses."

"Bleah. Maybe if you and your date are shopping for Fathers' Day presents."

"Ha. Then you've got your nice lesbian-owned bookshops, full of radical literature and friendly cats."

"Yes! Like in _Dykes to Watch Out For_. I wish there was a place like that around here. I mean, at home."

"Me too. Someplace to hang out, meet people." Finn looked down- was he hiding a little smile, there?

"Meet people?" Poe raised an eyebrow.

"Ohmigod, I'm _not_ just talking about hooking up."

"You hooked up with someone you met in a bookstore?"

"I didn't say that."

"Where is this place? Is it near the laundromat? How do I not know about it?"

"No, no. There's this really nice place in Lawrence."

" _Lawrence_? That's a long way to go for a cup of chai."

"I was there for work."

"Oh."

"We're on the road a lot. Almost half the year."

"Oh." Poe chewed that over. He wanted to ask how Finn made that work with his custody agreement. But the conversation had been scattered with pitfalls already; it was too nice out to step in another one.

"Huh. I'd think in that line of work you're _always_ on the road." He stomped his boots on the ground, just in case Finn didn't get it. "On? The road?"

Even in the moonlight, he could see Finn giving him the broken-lace look again. Why that did something for him, he didn't know.

"Sorry. But seriously. So you and the rest of these bridge-building hunks-"

"Ohh, hardly."

"You get off work, maybe hit the motel to freshen up, and then they all go out to a strip club and you head down to the nearest lesbian bookstore?"

"Pretty much," Finn laughed. "Or whatever's around. A bar, if there is one. I just pick up the local weekly and, you know. Wherever it seems like people might be hanging out."

"Damn, Finn."

"Not to hook up! Just to, you know, be around people."

"Yeah." Poe stopped teasing, at that. "That's really important."

"Yeah."

"The guys at work? They know?"

"Yeah. I mean, we don't talk about it or anything."

"You don't brag about all your bookstore conquests?"

"There aren't- oh my god, you think I'm a whore."

"I don't! I'm kidding."

"Okay."

"But I wouldn't judge you if you were."

"You know, I believe you."

"Good."

They were quiet, Poe imagining Finn bumping into a cute guy in a bookstore, or reaching down to pet a cat at the same time, their hands touching...

"Waaait a minute."

"Uh-oh."

"Wait just a gol-durned minute, here."

"Oh, no."

"So you travel all over, building these engineering marvels-"

"Sometimes a bridge is just a bridge, Poe."

"That will outlast civilization as we know it-"

"I don't like where this is going."

"That archaeologists will study thousands of years in the future. You travel up and down the midwest, reading books and breaking hearts-"

"I have never broken a single heart!"

"And when I asked you what you did for a living, you said _road work_."

"Well, technically."

"I see. That's _your_ defense mechanism, isn't it?"

Finn nodded, because he could hardly deny it.

"I know. Modesty was a virtue, in the church. I guess I never outgrew it."

"Modesty, huh? Coulda fooled me, watching those pricks on TV."

"I'm gonna level with you, Poe." Finn took Poe's hand and looked him in the eye, looking _very_ serious. "This may be hard to hear."

"Shit, I'm listening."

"There may be... a _bit_ of hypocrisy within the evangelical leadership."

"No!" Poe gasped.

"In fact, I'm beginning to think that it may plague all of Christendom."

"But- but surely not the _Catholic_ Church?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Well I am. Shaken to the core."

"I know it's hard."

"Oh?" Poe grinned. _"How hard is it?"_

"Ohmigod you're the worst." Finn returned Poe's hand, patting it firmly.

"I am."

"You probably pick people up in _comic book_ shops."

"Who, _me_? Do I look like the kind of- kind of person that would frequent such establishments?"

"Frequent was your word."

"Occasion. I _occasion_ such establishments."

Finn gave him the _don't bullshit me_ look, and Poe hung his head in mock shame.

"Fine. The occasion is monthly, when _X Factor_ comes out. That what you wanted to hear?"

"See? Was that so... difficult?"

"Tough crowd, jeez."

The fact was, Finn was _so_ funny, but in this quiet, understated way. Poe felt a little bit high, maybe from the connection they were making, or maybe just from being up so far past bedtime. Not his normal college-student bedtime, but way past AT bedtime. They were going to be dragging, tomorrow. 

 

"It's late." Finn had been thinking the same thing.

"Do I wanna know how late?"

"Oh, damn. It's almost time for another check-in."

"Wasn't the last one like ten minutes ago?"

"Nope. Almost an hour ago."

"Well shit, we must be having fun."

"We must be."

"I guess we need to sleep sometime or we'll be useless tomorrow."

"Yep. You wanna go first?"

"Not really. You?"

"Not really."

Finn did the radio check while Poe visited the bushes, and then they made the last of the hot chocolate and split it over a cigarette. And then they kept talking, until it was time for the next one.

 

Poe learned that Finn had been outed to his sister by a message on his answering machine. She'd been there almost constantly when Mercury was little. Their parents had visited a lot, too, but Dot would stay for the whole weekend, claiming Finn's bed while he slept on the couch. He'd gone out to the grocery store, and when he came back she was standing next to the phone and seething, her face clearly expressing _what have you done_?

His heart had sunk into his feet as he watched her finger move in slow motion to press _Play_. The moment had seemed to last and last, and he knew exactly what had just happened.

_What if Mom had been here? What if Mom had heard that?!_

Well, she would have to know eventually, right?

_Not while I'm on this earth, she won't._

Poe had had this kind of conversation before; he was armed with a dozen ways to prompt without demanding or judging or pushing. But Finn said pretty firmly that they could talk about it more over one of those drinks they kept promising to have.

 

Finn learned that Poe had dated a boy, junior year. His name was Mikey, and he had a feminine streak a mile wide. He played it off as a joke publicly, but he was really into it.

Finn read as much as he could, in magazines and on usenet and internet forums. Enough to to know to be thoughtful in how he asked, but not enough to know exactly the right way to ask. On the net, especially, people seemed really divided over terminology. Some people were prim and technical, others lewd and freewheeling. The latter often insisted that the prim ones were just as oppressive as the straights. Arguments that started off as reasonable disagreements would devolve into vicious flame wars.

He carefully asked if Mikey was someone who wanted to live as a woman, or if he was someone who was _expressing_ himself.

The latter, Poe thought. At least at the time, Mikey had always said he was happy with his body. He was expressing something sexy and creative and liberating.

"But who knows," Poe shrugged. "We were in high school. Some people take a while to figure things out."

Finn nodded, and fell quiet, thinking about that, wondering what the best way was to ask about Poe's own relationship to masculinity.

Poe fell quiet, too, somewhat grumpily, not knowing what Finn was thinking. It wasn't exactly _ironic_ , he thought, that Finn had been so quick to ask about Mikey, while seemingly oblivious to the hints that Poe had been dropping. It wasn't ironic at all. It was typical.

Guys like him were practically invisible, while transsexual women were far too visible, fetishized and exoticized in the mainstream. Even in queer spaces, people seemed to assume that they were all like drag queens, bigger-than-life personalities who wanted nothing more than to be approached about their beauty regimens, or to hold forth about their awkward sexual experiences.

He wouldn't want to trade places, that was for sure. But he longed for something more _normal_ for everyone. How hard could it be for people to just see gender as a spectrum, or maybe even something broader? It was so obvious to him, but yet it seemed utterly counter-intuitive to almost everyone, even to the most progressive feminists, even to a lot of gay people. Like only some massive shift in global consciousness could change things, like being visited by aliens or something.

Not that he believed in aliens.

He looked up at the night sky. Between the full moon and the gathering haze, the stars were pretty sparse. He could still make out Cygnus and the summer triangle, indicating where the Milky Way was, even if its own glittering depths were lost to view.

He remembered being a kid, sitting on the couch with his parents, watching _Star Trek_ and knowing that the future was going to be a better place. Just _knowing_ it, as surely as some people knew there was a God.

"You ever watch _Star Trek_ when you were a kid?"

"Of course."

"Pretty idealistic shit, huh?"

"Yeah. Me and Dot watched it with my dad. He used to say people were like _Star Trek_ aliens. Like, sure, there's always gonna be people that don't like you, that want to see you fail. But sometimes people are just scared and ignorant. _You see how James T Kirk conducts himself? He ain't too proud to show his good intentions. He keeps that whup-ass on hand, but he keeps it in his back pocket_."

"Wow." Poe nodded slowly, because for all the relative diversity of the crew, he'd always thought of the show as ultimately expressing pretty anglo sensibilities. That was interesting, though, and so he eloquently added, "Huh."

"Course, as far as Dot was concerned, it was the Lieutenant Uhura Show."

"Yeah, I bet."

"She was like, _Mom! You should watch! Uhura is the smartest one on the ship!_  And then my mom would say, _Well, if she wants them to respect her, she should Put Some. Pants On_."

"Ouch. I don't think she had a choice."

"Right?"

"Funny, I always pictured your mom as a skirt lady." _Always_ , as if they'd known each other for years.

"Oh, no. Polyester slacks, man. The ones with the permanent crease."

"I remember those!"

"Different color for every day of the week."

"She never wore jeans?"

Finn laughed, from deep in his belly. "My mom has never worn a jean in her life. Denim on any part of a woman's body might as well be a sign that says  _Will Trade My Body For Drugs_."

"Oh, that is _deeply_ old-fashioned."

"Yep."

"What about, like, ranchers? Or Rosie the Riveter?"

"Work clothes don't count."

"Oh, okay."

"Plus, I'm pretty sure Rosie was wearing a twill jumpsuit."

"Twill? The fuck is a twill? I see that word all the time."

"Poe."

"What?"

"I know you're butch as fuck, but don't _pretend_ you don't know basic fabrics."

"But-" Poe frowned, and then had to admit that Finn was kind of right. "So basically like coveralls."

"Exactly like. Because she's literally wearing coveralls."

"Okay, okay. Twill coveralls. Got it."

"Is it... okay? That I said that?"

"About me?"

"Yeah. I don't want to be a jerk."

"No. Not at all. I mean, it's true, right?"

Finn looked so cautious as he inclined his head, ever so slightly, so Poe added, "At least, I hope it is."

"Yeah, totally." A smile, still cautious. Finn nodded and nodded and seemed to be thinking that over, and then he put his head back on the sandbags, blinking up at the moon, now high and white and wearing a broad halo. 

"Looks like rain in a day or two."

"Tuesday, maybe."

"We should get some rest."

"Yeah."

Poe sighed.

"I could sleep," Finn admitted. "But it's so nice out here. The air is nice. I don't wanna crawl in that musty old Korean war pup tent."

"You could drag that bedroll outside."

"I could."

"You could lie right here, and I could talk you to sleep with the adventures of Poe Lionheart."

Finn snorted violently.

"Golden of mien and silver of tongue, a friend to all but those who chose him for an enemy."

Finn was wheezing, now.

"Ridiculous charisma. He was quite the charmer, if you know what I mean. A stalwart comrade and-"

"Did you just say _stalwart_?"

"Verily."

"Holy shit. That is some wack-ass shit, man. I'm sorry."

"S'alright. Just trying to be entertaining."

"Oh, you are. You are definitely entertaining... shit, you're doing it right now, aren't you?"

Poe laughed and slouched back against the sandbags, half pleased with himself and half deeply embarrassed for being such a shameless nerd.

"I swear, Dameron, I am not getting lured into that nerd shit."

"No, not if you set your mind against it with true intention. He was charming, but he got hoodwinked once or twice. A few times. Semi-regularly. Not always the sharpest knife in the drawer."

"Well, you shouldn't keep your knives in drawers."

"Or your fireflies in closets."

They smiled at one another, their eyelids dipped and _gawd_ it felt like flirting. But it wasn't, though; Poe was just kind of giddy from being up so late and talking for so long, from weaving their own little space here in the listening post and suddenly cracking it open in surrender to necessity.

"Kay. Imma lie down." Finn pushed himself to his feet.

"Wake you up in what? Two hours?"

" _Two_?? One and a half, man. You're not up on the latest sleep research?"

"Well I would be, if someone would let me in on the secret stash of _Scientific Americans_."

Finn just smiled, and then honest-to-god _tousled Poe's hair_ on his way past. Shit, if he'd been afraid he wouldn't be able to stay awake, well. Every fucking nerve was awake, now.

 

* * *

 

_You spaz! What the hell was that?_

It was a friendly gesture, Finn told himself. At the most, _affectionate_. He tied back the tent flaps to let the fresh air in, took his boots off to let his feet breathe, and collapsed on the bedroll. As soon as his back hit the ground, he was suddenly very tired. 

Moments later, the sweetness of Poe's rolling tobacco reached his nostrils, cutting through the must of ancient canvas. It was nice. It was comforting, and then he was out like a light.

 

* * *

 


	11. Cohesion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last couple chapters were A Lot, so please enjoy a short little bonus chapter while I finish the next one, which is also kind of a lot.

* * *

 

It was actually Monday night when it rained.

The evening had started off pleasant enough, sitting around after chow, playing cards and throwing bones. Larkin and Dameron were the team to beat at dominoes. Finn hadn't had much chance to see them actually working together, but watching them play opposite one another, he could see that they really did have a rapport. Larkin wasn't just being the big brother on the schoolyard, looking out for someone that might get picked on. The two of them were pretty tight, and it was nice to see.

Harding, on the other hand, kept a suspicious eagle eye on both of them. He didn't outright accuse them of cheating, but said it wasn't any fun when the same team kept winning. Everyone knew he and Larkin were bound to throw down at some point. They'd been sniping at one another all week, dropping petty comments and casting shade.

But no one wanted _this_ to be the last straw, so Poe diplomatically offered to play a couple hands with Harding. At which point Larkin said he was tired anyway and was going to turn in early. And all was well, until it started sprinkling. Then they put everything away and went inside to watch another movie, and _that_ was the end of Larkin's patience.

"Every goddamn night with you motherfuckers! I just want to get some fucking sleep!"

"It's not even that loud! You're in the corner! Put some fucking earplugs in!"

"I don't sleep with earplugs! You telling me they don't believe in situational awareness in the fucking desert?"

"You'll sleep with 'em when there's fucking HEMTTs running all night ten feet away!"

All the good excuses to vacate were quickly taken- going to see if the girls were "alright in the rain," or going down to get some hot water from the mess. A couple guys made brief attempts to talk them down, but everyone knew this was coming.

At least their body language didn't suggest any blows coming. They'd just gotten on each other's last nerve, and needed to have it out.

"You know, you're not the only one with prior service around here." Larkin listed a dozen NCOs and pilots who were vets. "You want me to go on? And they don't come in here with their fucking DVDs and keep everyone up at night."

"You might appreciate it if you thought you were ever gonna go anywhere, _punk_."

"I know I'm going somewhere! We're rotating in two years and I'm _planning_ to be here."

"I'm not talking about sitting on your ass in a fucking biergarten. You could end up in the Horn, or fuckin' Colombia, and you _know_ we're gonna end up going back to the Gulf."

"I'm so _fucking_ tired of hearing about the _fucking_ Gulf!"

"Of course you are! You and everyone else! I gave eight years of my life to this country, and no one at my job gives a fuck, no one in my classes gives a fuck. I thought you all might at least give _half_ a fuck."

Larkin shut his mouth, and everyone else looked down, abruptly chastened.

 

Shit, they should have known. Or guessed, or at least _asked_. The guy had only been out a few months. Of course he was having trouble adjusting. He'd been borderline insufferable, but they could have been more welcoming.

"You're right," Larkin said, finally. "I'm sorry, man. I was out of line."

"You weren't out of line. You guys have your thing, and I don't need to come in here with my little fucking toys and blow your shit up."

"No, man. Ain't no _you guys_." That was Johnson, who had probably only stuck around in case they did end up fighting, and was probably feeling like he should have picked up sooner on what his buddy was going through.

An awkward little dance of reconciliation followed. Everyone wanted to apologize to _Sean_ for having been so thoughtless, and to assure him that he was one of theirs, now. But he was embarrassed about having said too much out loud, and kept muttering that it was no big deal, that they were all great guys. After all, no one wanted to be _gay_ about it.

There was an awkward lull, and then Reyes spoke up and said that everyone kept telling him to watch _Raising Arizona_ , but he'd never seen it. Everyone seized on that, gasping in astonishment at this gap in his cultural literacy. They had to fix that, everyone agreed.

And that was that.

 

It was strange, how this thing came about, this ineffable thing the DoD called cohesion. Sometimes the rough edges seemed to sand themselves down; the parts slid together and meshed easily. Other times, something like this had to happen. Some parts had to break before they could fit.

There was a kind of hive mind aspect to it, a way that one's thinking sort of settled into a norm. A simultaneous stretching and contracting of awareness: testing the boundaries of acceptability, testing the limits of tolerance.

It happened through conflict, and it happened through humor, through reading the room. No one wanted a line to land in silence, or to little tuts like crickets, to quiet mutters of _c'mon man, not cool_.

Conversely, you had to learn not to react to everything. Sometimes Finn had to close his eyes and play Drill Sergeant Willis' gravelly voice in his head, calmly repeating _it's just water off a duck, men, water off a duck_ , like a mantra.

And then there was his buddy's way of dealing with it. Not just having what they called _a healthy sense of humor about yourself_ , but really embracing it, like teasing was really in Poe's comfort zone. And maybe it was; maybe that's what happened if you stood out your whole life. Finn had always _felt_ like a weirdo, but it sounded like Poe had never been able to hide it. And they both lived with the specter of things far worse than mere mockery; maybe for Poe, teasing felt like the comfortable, safe alternative. Still, there had been a touch of bitterness in his buddy's voice, sitting there in the moonlight and muttering _fuckin' amateurs_ over a cigarette.

He supposed there was some bitterness to his own... duck-feather oil? Duck oil? Duck feathers?

 

He tried to pay at least a little attention to the movie. But he was at a bad angle for the screen, and the sound was terrible. And the phrase _duck feathers_ kept popping back into his head, sounding familiar, like it was something he should know.

Oh, right. Because it sounded like a combination of _Duck Soup_ and _Horse Feathers_. They'd actually staged _Duck Soup_ , junior year. It had been ridiculously ambitious, and also a huge hit.

Huh.

It might be a good name for a play about a unit like this, learning to live with one another. After all, the banter around here sometimes rose to the level of Marxian wit. And they were quite a cast of characters. The confrontation between Harding and Larkin would make for a good one act play... it could be a commentary on the alienation of an increasingly professional military, as well as the normal human drama of narrow vision and casual thoughtlessness.

There could be a B plot, a romance between two of the soldiers. Their own misunderstandings would result from the silence imposed by DADT, but they would parallel the those in the main plot- the latter resulting from ingrained norms of masculine expression. Their confessions would be a soft climax, a mirror to the more explosive one in the main plot. Even the title suggested commentary- from the Marx Brothers to  _Duck and Cover_. _Duck You Sucka._ _The White Feather_. Maybe he was really on to something, here. And the dialogue- if he could pull it off- would keep it light and accessible.

Huh.

He hadn't written anything since senior year. But this was a good idea. And work always slowed down in the winter...

He smiled to himself in the dark. Smiled fondly at the group of soldiers, gathered around the tiny screen watching a weird movie in the rain.

 _Duck Feathers_.

He liked it.

 

* * *

 

 


	12. Tolerances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Poe consoled himself that McCollough had probably been saving his little comments up all week, just waiting to get him alone, since they didn't seem to go over so well with the rest of the guys._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the bonus chapter was originally the first scene in this one. CW here for shitty language and minor fisticuffs. I said nothing really bad would happen, so let me spoil this chapter by letting you know that no one gets hurt.
> 
> Technical note: _clevis_ is pronounced with a short e, as in _let_ , and is really fun to say out loud. Try it.

* * *

 

They had sling load training the next day, one of the highlights of the trip. In the morning they gathered in the classroom tent with MSG Koons, the load master. He was a vet, too, and as a reservist had been on maybe a dozen deployments for disaster relief or fighting wildfires. But the thing that was really remarkable about him was a pronounced speech impediment. By the time this crop of young enlisted troops met him, he'd earned his stripes. But he must have gone through hell, back in the day. They had to pay real close attention to understand him, but every one of them admired the hell out of him.

They practiced with the hardware, first. There was, as always, a lot of talk around clevis handling technique. Whoever named the clevis was probably still laughing in his grave, right along with Johann Bode.

_Use both hands on the clevis. Don't be too rough with the clevis. Don't jerk the clevis, just slide it in._

SPC Weisman was getting married soon, and he got the worst of it; everyone wanted to tell him what to do with the clevis on his wedding night. And of course, the girls got plenty. Torrey just rolled her eyes and proclaimed that _none of y'all little boys even know what to do with a clevis_. Salas practically hid behind her buddy, avoiding the banter and insisting that she just wanted to get through the operation safely.

_I bet Dameron could show you a thing or two. I bet she knows her way around a clevis._

Harding just shouldered right up to Poe and asked, "C'mon, girlfriend. Man to man. What's the secret to the clevis?"

"If you don't know by now, buddy."

"Aw, c'mon. My dad wasn't around to teach me."

"Yeah... that's what your mom said."

 

It was fun, but Finn got that feeling again, the sense of ghosts around them. Decade after decade, young men just like themselves had done this training exactly the same way, making exactly the same jokes. Of course, some things were different now. It would be unrecognizable to his grandpa: the racial integration, the fact that there were women here at all. Poe's appearance, and the fact that Salas was barely even trying to hide the way she looked at Poe.

So yeah, things did change. But still, there were no new clevis jokes under the sun.

...

 

MSG Waters came in for the evaluations, clearing them to train on the aircraft. She was a TI, and she really _was_ the Major Houlihan type. Starched and polished, tees crossed, textbook ponytail. What little humor she had, she spared for the pilots, and Finn got the impression that even that took a little out of her.

When everyone was a Go, she took the first group out to the airstrip. They were going to be a while, so the rest settled in to ask Koons for some war stories. After a while, Poe went out for a cigarette, and Finn watched Salas follow.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, Poe. Got a light?"

"Course." He lit her cigarette for her. "Koons is pretty badass, huh?"

"Can you imagine? What it was like when he was a grunt?"

"Right? Balls of steel, on that one."

"I really admire people like that."

"Totally."

"It must take a lot of courage. To stand up for yourself, around all these _guys_."

_She's talking about you, isn't she?_

She was. He could see her eyes, shyly flicking up at his face and away again. It was hard not to flirt back. She was totally his type, as far as girls went. Pretty and sweet, and also competent, and just so fucking _petite_. The kind of girl he could envelop in his arms, the kind of girl he looked good in public with. There was just something human- primate, animal, even- that reflexively wanted to flirt back, even if nothing was going to come of it. It was even harder not to glance over, to see if Finn was watching.

Or- maybe she wasn't _just_  flirting. After all, there were plenty of reasons for her to be shy. If she was just young and questioning and looking for someone to talk to, then he owed it to her to talk, and to listen. But there wasn't much they could say, here.

"It can be rough," he said. "But things are getting better. Better than they were not so long ago."

"Of course," she agreed. "Hard to believe that was just a few years ago."

Aha. So.

Just a few years ago, before DADT, when just the way she was looking at him could have triggered an investigation. Not to mention _what_ she was looking at. Poe's haircut was flagrantly out of spec, and technically they could gig him for it if they wanted to, but at least it wasn't grounds to investigate his private life.

"But the bottom line is, we gotta have each other's backs, right?"

"Absolutely." She nodded up at him, wide-eyed and serious.

 

* * *

 

Waters had a reputation for being uptight, but she was a TI; it was kind of her job. There was an old maxim about aviation: it's not uniquely difficult, but it's unforgiving. There's no such thing as _good enough_ , because _good enough_ gets people killed.

But there was no place for pettiness or intimidation, either. Where safety conflicted with military etiquette, safety came first. Thirty-year veteran pilots treated young PFCs with concern and respect because their lives were in their hands, not just because they were nice guys.

Waters relaxed a notch when it was just the three of them, away from the group. The safety checks she walked them through shouldn't make them nervous, she said. To the contrary; they shouldn't proceed with the operation unless they were confident in the safety of their equipment. And that confidence could come only from the proof of their own two eyes.

So they laid out the massive, heavy sling and inspected it for wear or defects before hauling it up onto the container they were loading. They laid all the straps out flat, with the slack folded neatly and snag-proof. The hooks were all pinned and oriented correctly, and the heavy clevis sat in the middle. After Waters checked everything off, they retreated to the edge of the field. They buttoned their blouses up to their necks, donned their dust goggles and kevlars, and waited for the fun part.

 

Even with hearing protection in, they could feel the thrum of chopper blades approaching. The airship emerged over the treeline, and as it lowered they caught stray gusts of rotor wash. They had just a moment to admire the control the pilot was exhibiting- holding the massive ship in a low, tight hover- before Waters was signaling them forward.

This part was fucking cool. From half-crawling through the hurricane-force rotor wash to exchanging hand signals with the crew chief, it was exactly the kind of _badass army shit_ Karé had meant. Under the belly of the beast, even the slight sway of the hovering plane seemed amplified, as the crew chief did his best to guide them into alignment. Once the clevis clicked into place, they gave him a second thumbs-up and got away quickly but safely: crawl halfway down the container, then leap clear. Yet another thumbs-up once they were safely on the ground, then hustle back to the edge of the field.

They landed prone and turned around in time to see the straps go taut and the container teeter off the ground. Then the ship was off, taking the noise and wind with it. They would circle around for a few minutes while Waters scored them, and then return to unload.

 

Unloading required even more coordination, but after nine days together they were pretty attuned to one another's body language- the head tilts and elbow-pointing and chin-pointing. Again they signaled to the chief and hustled away.

Poe may have tried to turn around too fast, not wanting to miss anything. A stiff gust nearly knocked him over, and Finn caught him and eased them both to the ground. They landed side by side, knees and shoulders touching. They watched the helicopter lift again, and turned to one another, beaming.

They were so close; Finn was _right there_. Poe couldn't stop staring into his bright, excited smile. He wished he could see what his eyes were doing behind those dust goggles. But then, he supposed, he was glad Finn couldn't see _his_ eyes, couldn't see the way he wanted to kiss him right now. It almost felt like they were _supposed_ to. He tore his eyes away, and then tore his body away, too.

He stood up and offered Finn a hand, and pulled him to his feet. They brushed off and pulled out their earplugs and went to go retrieve the sling for the next group.

 

Waters had nothing but approval for their execution. In fact, she told them, a couple pilots wanted to do some night loads that night. They'd only be doing a few runs, and could only take a couple of groups. Would the two of them be interested in night training?

Poe had to bite his tongue not to say _Fuck yeah!_

"Absolutely, Master Sergeant," he agreed, trying to sound _professional_. Finn responded similarly. They signed off on their training cards, and she told them to take the rest of the afternoon off to rest. They were to meet her at 2100 at the Supply tent to check out NVGs. She dismissed them with a curt _good job, soldiers_.

 

* * *

 

They were still high on endorphins, walking back to the tent.

"You psyched about tonight?"

"Fuck yeah, you kidding me?"

"I know. As soon as that was over I wanted to go again!"

"Like a roller coaster or something."

"That was _awesome_. Like, in the truest sense."

"You see me almost get knocked over?"

"I saw it, man. Gotta keep your head down."

"I kinda wanted to stand up," Poe admitted. "Just to see what happens."

Finn laughed out loud.

"I feel like that's, like, a metaphor for your approach to life."

"Oh my god, Finn! Just call me the fuck out, why don't ya!"

"Just sayin'."

Finn nudged their shoulders together, and Poe smiled, and felt really, really happy.

 

* * *

 

The tent was empty, quiet for once. They shed their gear and racked out with paperbacks in hand. But neither of them were really reading. They kept grinning up at the ceiling, feeling the thrum of power in their chests.

"So what are you pretending to read?" Finn asked.

Poe held up _Zodaic_. "It's not about the serial killer. It's an eco-thriller about toxic waste and capitalism. Or, uh, externalized liabilities. Which... aren't unique to capitalism, I guess. So it's about toxic waste."

Finn snorted. "If someone gave me that description, I would _guess_ it's something you would like."

"Why, thank you," Poe grinned. "What about you?"

"Ummm."

"What? It can't be any worse than what's in the library."

(The unit "library" was a milk crate full of well-abused paperbacks. At any given time, it contained a rotating cast of biographies of Great Men™, the kind career officers liked to quote and to foist on those in whom they saw leadership potential. There were a couple of lonely self-published war memoirs that didn't get read very much. _The Templar Revelation_  came and went; it was a pretty popular read. A lot of the guys subscribed to the same conspiracy BBS and usenet groups; if you objected to their theories they would direct you to first read the  _Revelation_  and then get back to them. The ballast of the library was a pile of trashy romance novels. Finn had never seen any of the guys reading one, but judging from the wear and tear, they did get read. After all, they _did_ fit discreetly in a cargo pocket.)

"No, nothing _that_ bad. But it's kinda light. Since it's kinda hard to concentrate, with all the people around..." Finn trailed off, gesturing around at the empty tent. He cleared his throat and held up _The Golden Compass_.

"Oh, awesome! That's not _light_."

"You know it?"

"Of course! Like, literally everyone I know is reading it. I just haven't had time yet."

"Really? It's, you know. Young adult."

"Yes. And we are young adults, are we not?"

"I don't think that's what it means, but I'm gonna take it."

They smiled at one another and stretched out, and continued pretending to try to read.

...

 

An hour later, the other night team arrived. And it just _had_ to be Rivera and McCollough, because _of course_ , it had to be. But they were in equally high spirits, just coming from their turn loading. They all agreed that that had been badass, and that they were all psyched to go again, and that they should take advantage of the downtime to rest up for later. And everything seemed fine between them all.

But that guy.

That guy just couldn't leave well enough alone. He leaned over Finn's cot and asked, "Whatcha reading?"

And maybe it was a dumb thing for Finn to say. Maybe the whole thing was his fault. Maybe nothing would have happened, if he hadn't been in such a _good_ mood, and cheerfully answered in the same playful way he did with Chelle, when they asked each other what they'd been reading to Curie. _Words_ , they said, after one last very platonic friend-date to see Kenneth Branaugh's _Hamlet_ , because none of their other friends wanted to go.

"Words," he said airily, and looked over to see Poe grinning, and winked.

So it was all his fault, really.

"Well fuck you, too."

"Hey, it's just a joke, man. It's from-"

"I asked you a civil question-"

 _Aw, jeez, dude. Lighten up_.

"-and you gonna play the fucking tar baby with me?"

Finn closed his eyes.

_Water off a duck, men, water off a duck._

"The fuck did you just say?" Poe asked.

"You tell me what I said, Dameron."

He heard Poe's cot creaking, felt their cargo pockets brushing in the narrow space between the cots.

_Shit, Poe, don't._

"Oh, what is this?" McCollough laughed.

"I think you misspoke there, _Private_."

"What did I say, _Specialist_?"

"Poe, it's fine."

It wasn't fine, but honestly. This wasn't helping.

"You don't like something I said? Or is it just that time of the month?"

" _Dude_ ," Rivera groaned. " _Lay off_."

"Seriously," Finn added. Poe kept glaring, but at least didn't step any closer.

"I ain't never seen her this mad. I think she likes you, Finn."

Poe actually drew back, at that.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Dameron, but I don't think Finn is interested in _men_."

 _Aw, jeezus_.

"Hey, Poe. Don't listen to this dipshit."

"Well then _this dipshit_ should stop fucking talking."

"Dude. I could go for a smoke. Come with?"

Poe nodded, and seemed about to agree to that, but McCollough giggled and did _not_ stop.

"But you know who _is_ interested in men? Your little puppy Salas."

Poe tensed, nostrils flaring, looking away from McCollough and through the far wall of the tent. The conflict behind her eyes was almost audible.

"That poor little girl thinks she wants to suck your dick."

"Dude!" Rivera yelled and sat up in his cot.

"Poe, don't listen-"

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Jeff," Poe warned.

"Or what, faggot?"

"Or I will plant my boot so far up your ass you'll _wish_ it was a dick."

"That's cute. Isn't she cute, guys?" He looked over at Rivera, grinning and very amused, and then there was a flash of army brown as Poe shoved him, and the whole tent shook as he stumbled back against one of the huge wooden poles holding it up, with Poe right on top of him.

"Guys! Stop it!" Finn and Rivera yelled in unison.

The guy had a good six inches on Poe, but he hadn't been expecting that. Poe had his shirt in one hand and his wrist in another, held high with her elbow locked, which gave McCollough almost no leverage or momentum. He shoved at her shoulder with his free hand, but her feet were planted hard in the dirt. He tried a couple of punches, but with his back to the pole he didn't have much leverage there, either.

Poe was leaning against him hard, though, and he finally figured out how to use that. He twirled them together around the pole until her body weight dropped them both. Poe pinned him almost as soon as they hit the ground. And for a couple of seconds, they were still enough that Finn thought that he and Rivera might actually be able to get in and drag them apart, but then McCollough used his long legs to flip them both over. They rolled into the row of cots, knocking them askew and knocking one over. It sounded like it hurt, and indeed, they both paused, panting and swearing.

"Assholes!" Rivera hissed urgently. "You're gonna get us all in trouble. Knock it off."

"If we miss this training tonight, so help me Bast I will kick both of your asses!"

From somewhere in the tangle, he heard Poe mutter _fuck_.

After a long few seconds, they pushed apart, knocking another cot over in the process. They scooted back on their butts, tense and ready to spring again.

"Out. Both of you." It was so rare for Rivera to sound even remotely authoritative that it caught everyone's attention. Poe stood up, and McCollough scrambled up in tandem, ready to defend himself. They glared at one another. Finn could see the animosity in the glint of McCollough's eyes and in the curl of Poe's lip.

"Not. Another. Word." He tried to sound authoritative, too, and it seemed to work. Poe turned away first, grabbing her blouse off her cot and pushing through the tent flap. McCollough seemed inclined to take this as a victory; he opened his mouth to say something but Rivera cut him off.

"Not another word." He repeated Finn's admonition, and pointed to the opposite exit. McCollough rolled his eyes and left with a disgusted scoff, leaving the two of them alone in the quiet mess of overturned cots and gear.

"Sorry, man," Finn offered.

Rivera shrugged. "I don't care. Long as we don't get in trouble."

Finn was pretty sure he didn't. They straightened up the cots and tried to put everyone's gear back where they thought it belonged. And then Rivera turned to him with a little smirk.

"Kinda hot, though."

Finn offered a single raised eyebrow.

"I mean, if she, you know." Rivera gestured around his chest and body, vaguely indicating _femininity_. Finn winced, not wanting to imagine Poe looking any different.

"Okay. Whatever floats your boat, man. I'm gonna go see if she's okay."

 

* * *

 

 _This is why_.

Poe sat on a crate, rubbing his stinging elbow.

 _This is exactly why_.

The guy had been getting in his grill for two fucking years, and for two fucking years he'd handled it like he was supposed to, with confidence and snappy comebacks, with good humor that was directed at himself as much as at the other guy. The kind of humor that won him friends and made him look like the good guy.

But damn, that guy really knew how to get under his skin. Poe consoled himself that McCollough had probably been saving his little comments up all week, just waiting to get him alone, since they didn't seem to go over so well with the rest of the guys. If there had been more people around, they never would have let it go that far.

Finn came out of the tent and approached slowly. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey. I'm sorry."

"Guy was being a dick."

"Still sorry."

"You alright?"

"Nothin' broken."

"Good." Finn smiled, just a little. "No good in a dark alley, huh?"

Poe smiled a little, too, and shrugged.

"He really is a dick," Finn said.

"Yeah. Still no excuse."

"I mean, he was a dick to me, first."

"Exactly. You didn't ask me to do anything. You didn't _want_ me to do anything. It sure as fuck didn't help." Poe stopped for a deep breath. "I shouldn't have escalated the situation. So. I'm sorry."

He didn't look up to see the look on Finn's face. If he had, he would have seen surprise, and that Finn was somewhat impressed with this self-awareness.

"Okay. Well. At least you know it."

_Yeah. I've got some data to work from._

 

So many times, in high school. Especially senior year. At least he'd never ended up in the hospital. He'd held his own- only because those had been fair fights, not attempted hate crimes. Most of those guys just wanted to see what he was made of. A couple of them had even wanted to be _friends_ , afterward. Classic schoolyard bully shit.

But they were adults, now, and this shouldn't have to happen. Most of the time, he was proud of the way he handled himself. But sometimes he had to wonder- what was the point of forbearance and patience? Why did _they_ always have to be the good guys?

It had been a while since something like this had happened. But apparently, he still had a long way to go.

He was still working on anticipating triggers before they flipped. On backing down. Dousing the fire. De-cocking the hammer, so to speak. (His therapist didn't like that particular metaphor. Poe thought it was hilarious.)

So yeah, this was why.

This was exactly why he wasn't ready to take the next steps, yet.

...

 

Finn didn't know where McCollough had gone, but he suggested they take the rest of their downtime in the girls' deuce. Poe didn't even have it in him to be offended, but he offered a weak objection on the grounds of not wanting to invade their privacy. Finn assured him that he was good enough friends with Torrey to know she wouldn't mind; she'd _want_ them to take advantage of the space.

Poe agreed, reluctantly, to a tactical retreat. 

It was dark in there, and no one was going to bother them. Poe read the same page about three times, and gave up. He turned his flashlight off and closed his eyes and surrendered to the familiar push and pull of self-recrimination versus self-justification.

 

* * *

 

It didn't surprise him that McCollough backed off, after that. Poe hoped he was satisfied, like those guys in high school. They were never going to be friends, obviously, but he chilled out, inasmuch as he stopped sneering in Poe's direction and just ignored him as much as possible.

The four of them hiked out to Supply at 2100, trying to maintain the tiny sliver of social space where forced cheerfulness could coexist with two of their party refusing to even look at one another. Once they reported to Waters, however, whatever personal bullshit they were carrying was quickly stowed away. They were there to listen, and to train, and to follow her instructions.

...

 

The night operations were even more thrilling than the earlier daytime training, and correspondingly more fraught with safety concerns. They had to be totally focused on what they were doing, so Poe didn't have any processing space to spare on the fact that his antagonist was watching his every move through NVGs from the edge of the field. They were pretty deep in the zone.

He almost forgot the guy was there, until he and Finn were once again laying shoulder to shoulder in the grass. Self-awareness crept in again, and a crappy little reminder that if he'd ever had a chance with Finn, he'd probably blown it that afternoon.

That's when he remembered that they might be watching, and he could hear the taunts, echoing in his head. _I think she likes you_. He inched away from Finn, and looked up to watch the airship lifting into the sky.

Afterward, they shared a pair of NVGs to watch the other team take their turn. Poe grudgingly admitted that both soldiers were good at what they were doing, loading and unloading safely and efficiently. He supposed it gave him something to say, if he were ever called upon to say something _nice_ about that jerk.

...

 

They were all a Go for the training. They signed off on their cards, and helped Waters return all the equipment to Suppy. Before she let them go, she addressed them all. She was impressed, she said. She wanted to know if any of them were considering careers in the Reserves.

Finn admitted that he'd thought about it, but assured her that Lopez was already working on him.

"You have kids, don't you?"

"I have a daughter, yes."

"Well. I'm sure you know. The benefits here aren't the best in the world, but they're pretty damn good, if you have a family."

"I'm thinking about it, Master Sergeant."

"Good. I won't twist your arm, but I will tell you to get with Lieutenant Abrams, do the numbers, think about what's right for your family."

"Thank you, Master Sergeant."

"Alright. Good work tonight, soldiers. Get some sleep, because this plane got a workout today. She's gonna need some TLC tomorrow."

 

* * *

 

Poe wanted to stop on the path, to apologize again to Finn for earlier, to have a few minutes alone together to debrief. Finn must have felt the hesitancy in his footsteps, because he put his arm around Poe and rubbed his shoulder. It was nice, and hopeful, but Finn kept walking, gently urging him to keep up. He was right. Everyone else was sleeping; they didn't need to disturb them twice.

 

The thing was, they were all pretty keyed up, still. And the shared mood was pretty positive, despite the earlier altercation. It was pretty hard to be sour with all the endorphins still buzzing around in their systems.

So rather than disturb everyone right away, they sat out in the ersatz patio, steeping in their newfound detente and the rush of the training. Finn opened a cooler that had had ice in it the first day. A dozen sodas still bobbed in the lukewarm water.

"Anyone want a pop?"

McCollough said he'd take a coke, and Rivera asked if he really wanted caffeine at this hour.

"You know what I mean."

Finn reported that only orange and grape remained, decaf-wise, to which the other three hastily called _Orange!_

"Why y'all call it coke? That's confusing." Rivera asked this lazily, as if he wasn't even considering that he might be stirring the becalmed hornet's nest again.

"Well, you people just have a problem with _everything_ , don't you?"

The comment should have sparked Poe's vigilance again. But there was nothing nasty in his voice, just the same lazy, half-curious tone of a soldier filling the the silence with bullshit. In fact, Poe was kind of glad he'd said it, because it put him in the company of the others, rather than as the sole target.

"You got some problems too, buddy," Rivera drawled, again without any real hostility.

"I guess," McCollough shrugged.

Finn passed around the off-brand orange sodas, and stepped up to the role of diplomat. "Well, I'll tell you who doesn't have a problem, is Sergeant Waters. She ain't easy to please, so I think we should all be real proud of ourselves."

They agreed to that, and tapped their cans together.

 

Finn wasn't the only one who sometimes called on the wisdom of his old drill sergeants. Poe also had a voice he played in his head:

 _Sometimes you gotta let things go_.

_You can't ask people to let things go with you, if you ain't let things go with them._

_Amiright?_

 

* * *

 


	13. KP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was a long day full of dirty work and endless cleaning, but it was nice just being around the mess crew. Getting out of the rank bath of testosterone that had been their reality for the last ten days was a breath of fresh air, really.

* * *

  
They weren't involved in the TLC the ship needed the next day, because it was their turn on KP. Which, honestly, could not have come at a better time. After all the drama of the last couple days, it was nice to be away from the main camp and working with the mess crew.

Maybe Finn was a bit biased in SSG Renault's favor, but she seemed like a good boss. A lot of guys didn't like KP duty; they felt like it was beneath them or something. But she didn't expect anyone to pretend they liked it, as long as they got the work done.  Finn sometimes thought about saying something to her. A couple of times he'd intentionally let something slip- nothing explicit, just a little plausibly deniable sass here and there. He didn't know if she'd even noticed. At any rate, he was a hard worker, and she'd always seemed to like him.

Her second in command was Stan. His last name was some Slavic pile of consonants that was pronounced something like  _stank-ee-uh_ , and his first name was pronounced  _constance_. There was a lot of hay to make there, but he was confident and likable, and people just called him Stan.

Stan had been a cook before enlisting, and wanted to own his own restaurant someday. He was also one of the most outspoken liberals in the unit; talking politics with relish and certainty. He was proud of their little section for being more open-minded than the benighted majority. He was very loyal to Renault, and he  _loved_ Poe.

After him was Inez. Finn had always liked her, even if she seemed a little shy. She'd always been perfectly nice to him, but now that he was friends with Poe, she really opened up. With eye contact and smiles, even patting his arm and taking his hands to show him how she wanted him to do things. And: with absolutely  _terrible_ English-as-a-third-language puns. No wonder she and Poe insisted they were related.

Last in seniority was Frankie, just a few months out of AIT. He was only nineteen, and not quite fully baked yet. He was slim and smooth-cheeked, and his bangs were way too long. Given just his name and a photograph, one might guess that he was queer, too. But you only had to talk to him for a minute to see that he was totally straight- just a little vain, and a little naive, and a little slow on the uptake. He was disappointed to learn that Finn didn't play video games. Finn did, however, like to hit up an old-school arcade when he could find one, and Frankie thought that was pretty rad.

 

It was a long day full of dirty work and endless cleaning, but it was nice just being around these people. Getting out of the rank bath of testosterone that had been their reality for the last ten days was a breath of fresh air, really. And if it was a tonic for Finn, it was like a sanitarium for Poe.

Poe had been quiet and contrite in the grey light of dawn. Trudging down to the mess, the only thing she'd had to say was to apologize again for the altercation yesterday. She'd been taciturn while prepping breakfast, and during their break after had made a feeble attempt at sociability. When asked what was wrong, she'd just said  _I'm fine_ , and when no one bought that, _maybe later_.

Then, during lunch prep, one of the ancient immersion heaters had crapped out, and Poe and Renault worked on repairing it together. They obviously had a good talk while they were doing it, because Poe was in a much, much better mood afterward.

 

* * *

 

"What's got you so down,  _chiquita_?"

"You got something to put this hardware in?"

Renault got up and came back with an empty plastic spice jar. Poe started in on removing the heater from its cowling.

"C'mon, Dameron. Spill."

He sighed, knowing he wasn't going to get out of this.

"Alright. Well. You know me and Larkin aren't the only ones here from Bravo."

"Shit. What'd that little peckerwood swamp rat do now?"

"You know, saying things like that probably doesn't help."

"I wouldn't say it to his face."

"I hope not."

"At least, not in uniform."

Poe laughed a little, despite himself.

"So what'd he do?"

"Aw, you know. Guy's always trying to get my goat."

"Did he get it?"

"Yeah."

He lifted off the cowling, and started inspecting the unit for opens.

"Look. He's got a problem with me, fine. But he was talking shit about- about people he has no business talking about."

"Finn?"

"Yeah." Poe looked side to side, checking that no one was listening. "And about Salas," he whispered.

" _Ohh_." She looked at him with bright eyes, her mouth curling into a smile that said  _you sly dog, you_.

"No," Poe said quickly. "No no no. I think she's just, you know. Young. And looking for someone to talk to."

"Huh. Well, my door's always open, you know."

"Uh-huh. You do know you can be kind of intimidating, right?"

"Who, me?"

They both chuckled, and Poe focused on the heater.

"There it is." He pointed to a broken solder connection.

"Thank  _god_. We don't have a spare element."

"Let me make a real connection for you."

"We gotta get this thing up and running for lunch."

"It'll take just as long to get what I need from supply. Unless you got a soldering iron lying around."

"Course I do. This shit breaks all the time."

 

While they waited for the tool to heat up, she pressed  Poe again.

"So? What happened?"

"Just bullshit." He wasn't about to repeat anything the guy had said. "But it, uh. It got kind of physical."

"Really."

"Yeah. My fault."

"So... you kick his ass?"

"No."

"He kick your ass?"

" _No_."

"You get written up?"

"No."

"Well then," Renault shrugged. "About time you two got into it."

Poe smiled and shook his head.

"You always know the right thing to say."

"They tell me it's called  _leadership_."

 

She only had flux-core on hand, which Poe's instructors had rejected on principle. But it wasn't like he had a lot of experience either way; everything outside of black boxes used hardware connectors, and most of what was inside got sent out to a higher level of maintenance. The repair would last the next few days, anyway.

Poe finished reassembling the unit, and lifted it under one arm to take back to the dish-washing station. It wasn't half as heavy as it looked, but still Renault's eyes followed the movement.

"Showoff."

"Tch. You love it."

 

* * *

 

By the end of the day, they were both in good spirits, tired but relaxed. To be honest, the stakes were a little lower here. Not that feeding people wasn't important, but it wasn't like being responsible for the safety of a twenty-ton aircraft. And the mess crew were fun to work with. Still, Finn understood why Poe hadn't wanted to sleep down here. The crew kind of lived in their own reality, physically and mentally removed from the rest of the unit.

When everything was washed and put away, they came together for a smoke break. It was late, but it was the middle of June, and there was still some light left.

"Y'all have anything to get back for?" Renault asked.

"Nope. Not unless Harding has a hot shower he's been hiding in his bag of tricks."

"Well, y'all are free to go, but you're welcome to come to the planning meeting." She winked at them.

"Meeting?"

"Vodka and Sprite work for ya's?"

"Oh, hell yes," Poe enthused.

"Yeah, I could go for one," Finn said.

"Great. Grab that pile of cardboard there and follow Stan down to the conference room."

They followed him to a small fire pit hidden behind the section's sleeping tent. They set to rolling cardboard and collecting sticks to burn, and they took turns changing into clean clothes in the tent.

 

* * *

 

Damn, it felt good to get those socks off. Poe let his feet dry out while he changed his clothes, trousers and undies first. Then he pulled his damp, food-smelling tee shirt off, and freed himself from the last layer. He field-showered with baby wipes, getting the sweat and cooking odors out of his skin. He massaged the cool, wet wipes over the stinging red dents left on his torso by the stupid elastic. He stretched his arms and rolled his shoulders, rubbed his neck and scalp.

He took a moment to flex and run his hands over his muscles, admiring himself. He glanced at the tent flap. There was no hurry. They could wait another minute for him. He stretched again and got down to do a few quick sets of push-ups.

He did two sets of twenty, nice and smooth. Even after a long day, it felt good. It took another set for the burn to really kick in, and then he pushed through ten more. He dropped, and knelt back on his heels, and stayed there for a minute, rolling his neck and soaking in the dopamine.

He hadn't even bothered bringing a clean  _thing_  to change into; he just slipped into a nice clean tee shirt, AR-670 be damned. He rolled the dirty clothes up in a GI handkerchief and tied it into a bindle, shoved his clean, dry socks into unlaced boots, and went out to join his friends by the fire.

 

* * *

 

It was nice. It was a little warm for a fire, and not yet dark, but it was small, and it gave them something to fuss with and stare at.

Poe looked so comfortable, here. A little quiet, maybe; disengaged from the gossip, on account of yesterday's incident. But Finn thought maybe he could see a little of what Poe was like outside, in real life. He hoped he would get to see that for real, that they wouldn't forget about their plans to hang out once they went home.

Stan was the most talkative of the crew. For a while he tried to talk and poke the fire at the same time, until Inez took the poker stick away because he was  _stabbing the poor thing_. She seemed to zone out after that, calmly making minute little adjustments to the tiny campfire while he gesticulated and held forth.

"Missed you last month, Poe."

"Yeah, I had finals."

"There was a unit here from Saskatchewan."

"Ooh, exotic. You get to practice your French?"

"Cooking French ain't real French."

"Neither is Canadian French."

"I know _mirepoix, persillade, mise en place_..."

" _Escargot. Bistek_."

"Ah, _bistek_. The language of love."

" _Le oeuf_."

" _Le coq_."

" _Voulez-vous au_ , 'ow you say, rickety-ass old army cot  _en français_?"

Stan was pretty psyched about how progressive the Canadian army was. For one thing, they saw their humanitarian efforts as their primary mission. Finn and Inez pointed out- perhaps somewhat defensively- that their own unit had, historically, seen more relief work than combat.

It wasn't just that, Stan said. They were years ahead of the US in personnel matters. Some of the soldiers had told him a  _crazy_ story:

"They told me about this guy. Now, this guy's a colonel _._   Like, a _colonel_ in the Canadian Army, right? And he's like fifty years old, and he decided that he is... actually, really, a woman."

"Decided?" Poe asked mildly, without looking up.

"Well... no, I mean... What I mean is. He  _decided_   to come out."

"Ah."

"At work. To the fucking  _army_. It wasn't like he got caught. He just... told them."

Finn frowned. "Don't you mean,  _she_  told them?"

Renault made a little  _harrumpf_ that sounded not entirely approving.

"Shit," Stan swore. "Christ, I even  _said_  that to those guys that were telling me, and now I'm doing it. I'm just telling it they way they told me, shit. Anyway, so here's the crazy thing. They didn't make- didn't make her resign. They like, let her keep her job, and change her name, and now she's just, like, a female colonel in the fucking army. Is that fucking crazy or what?"

"Crazy," Poe agreed.

Poe stared into the fire like there was something to read, there. Finn stared, too; it was hard to look away from the way the flickering light played with the shadows on Poe's face.

On the one hand, there was his first impression, and everything they'd talked about the other night, about Poe's childhood and growing up... On the other hand, there was the way McCollough had insulted her yesterday, calling her a  _man_ , and he felt guilty for even thinking about it. But there was  _something_  there, and he wished he could just fucking _ask_.

"I don't think it's crazy." He tried to walk the middle ground. "People have all kinds of ways of, um. Expressing their identities."

"No, I don't mean crazy like  _bad_. I think it's great. I just mean, can you imagine? That happening in the US Army?"

"Someday."

"Not anytime soon."

"Ten years?"

"More like twenty."

"I won't be here to see it," Poe said.

"Serious?" Stan sounded disbelieving. "You think it'll take  _sixty years_?"

"What? No, I don't mean I'll be  _dead_. I mean I'm not planning to re-up, is all."

"Yeah, yeah, we all know you're too good for this shit," Renault said.

"You know that's not what I mean."

"I'll still be here slinging Salisbury steak to a bunch of gender-queer newbies, and your pretty face'll be on NOVA explaining to everyone's grandparents why it's not the end of civilization. Am I wrong?"

"I always saw myself as more of a  _Science Friday_  type."

"She says with that face. I should slap it."

"Why, Sergeant Renault, are you trying to seduce me?"

The cook just sighed.

"Wait. How would that work?" Frankie asked.

"Hey," Renault snapped, semi-offended. "I'm not that old."

"No, I mean... that guy."

"What about him?" Stan asked.

"Her," Inez corrected again.

"What about her?"

"Like..." Frankie frowned, not sure what to ask.

"I mean, girls get boob jobs all the time, right?"

"But like, can he get pregnant?"

" _She_ ," they all said in unison.

Well, all except Poe, who smiled into the fire and said, "Probably not, if she's fifty."

"Oh, right." Frankie nodded, like it all made sense to him now.

"Good job, buddy." Finn slapped Poe on the back. "Way to clear things up."

"That's why they're gonna pay me those big PBS bucks."

"I thought that was just for your handsome face."

Shit, he hadn't meant to say that. He'd meant to echo Renault,  _your pretty face_. His own curiosity and the conversation at hand had gotten the better of his tongue. But Poe just smiled and said,

"I mean, I'm no David Attenborough, but I get by."

"Speaking of gettin' by." Renault interrupted brusquely. "Who needs a refill?"

 

The crew got up to variously get fresh drinks or more sticks to burn or to take a leak. Once they were alone for a moment, Finn scootched closer to Poe.

"How you doing?" he asked quietly.

"Great." Poe leaned against his shoulder. "How 'bout you?"

"Great, yeah." He rubbed what he hoped were soothing circles over Poe's back.

"Mmmm. That's nice."

"This is fun, but if you want to go, you know. I'm cool with that. Or not. Either. This is nice."

"It is nice. But if you want to go s-"

Poe's teeth stuck on the word  _somewhere_ , because there wasn't anywhere, really. Nowhere they could be alone, to talk. "S-sometime, before it gets too late. Whatever."

"Well." Finn gave Poe's shoulder a last little squeeze. "We are missing  _Caddyshack_."

"Bummer. But you know, if you miss the beginning."

"Then you're lost," Finn agreed.

"No point walking in in the middle."

"The beginning is where the auteur lays out his premises."

Poe chuckled.

"Where he introduces his motifs," Finn continued. "The building blocks of thematic construction."

"You are  _so_  full of shit."

"Listen to this. I don't get no respect." Finn shook his head.

 

The sun was down, now, and the prairie sky was on fire with light refracted through windblown topsoil. It was an ocean of particulates up there; coal emissions and pollen and hayfield dander all contributed their hues. The group admired the colors together, and then Frankie asked if Finn and Poe had seen the moon the other night. Everyone spoke at once:

"It felt like I was on another planet!"

"Like in  _Star Wars_  or something."

"You could see all the craters."

"So is that real?" Stan asked. "Or is it your eyes playing tricks?"

"You mean, is it an atmospheric illusion, or an optical one?" Poe asked.

"Okay,  _we know_   you're in college."

"It's not like I know the answer."

"I do," Finn said. "They actually just figured it out recently."

"So?"

"Do you really want to know? I kinda wish it was still a mystery."

"I like the mystery," Inez said, definitively.

"Okay. But do they know why it makes people act weird?" Renault wanted to know.

"It doesn't," Stan said. "That's a myth."

"Sure it does."

"He's right," Poe confirmed.

"You tellin' me the wolves weren't howling up in camp the other night?"

"Wouldn't know," Poe shrugged.

"Yeah, we were on night watch." Finn winced internally at the totally unintentional warmth in his voice.

"Finn here found a real nice lookout spot."

Oh, Poe's voice sounded warm, too.

"Sounds  _romantic_." Frankie said this sincerely, but everyone else just laughed. Finn laughed with them, and felt his cheeks heating up, because... Shit, maybe they'd been out in the field too long.

(Right beside him, Poe was glad no one could see him blushing in the dusk and firelight, because god damn, yes, it had been romantic.)

"Aw, gross," Renault complained.

"It's not gross, it's cute!" Inez's face lit up. She loved Poe; she'd certainly never had a  _problem_  with Poe. But the delight on her face betrayed a secret wish for Poe to find a nice man and fall in love.

Renault made a disgusted noise. "I swear, Dameron, I will disown you."

"Bullshit. You'll always be my momma."

"I swear to  _god_. If I get a fucking wedding invitation someday, you're dead to me."

"I bet you dollars to doughnuts you get married before me."

"In your dress uniform, no less," Stan added.

"Ha! I'll be fucking retired before that happens."

"Ten years," Poe said, with confidence.

"Wait... what's in ten years?" Frankie asked.

Looks were exchanged around the little fire.

"Like I said," Renault shrugged. "I'll be retired."

 

Stan changed the subject; he asked them to speculate on whether there would be an impeachment vote by the time they got out of the field. Everyone riffed on that for a while, until the conversation petered out as the stars grew brighter in the sky. Inez turned in first, with big hugs for both of them. Frankie went to brush his teeth, and Renault said something about topping off the generator for the morning, so they said goodnight, leaving Stan alone by the little fire, finally in control of the poker stick.

 

* * *

 

They walked back up the trail under three-quarters of a moon, tired and loose, and both a little pensive.

"Those guys are great, huh?"

"Yeah. That was fun."

"Thank you, Poe."

"For what?"

"For... making me feel like I'm, you know. Part of the club."

"Are you kidding? You are the club, man. Any club I wanna be in, anyway."

"You know what I mean."

"I don't."

"She loves you. I wish I," Finn lowered his voice to a whisper. "I wish I could talk to her, you know?"

"Oh. Uh."

"Wait." Finn stopped in his tracks. "Does she...?"

 _Of course she knows, buddy_.

"I mean, she's been around the block a couple times."

"Did she say something?"

"Just- just that she likes you. Thinks you're cool. You know. _Cool_."

"Huh." Finn smiled and started walking again. "Thanks."

"For the record, I think you're pretty cool, too. Regular cool, I mean."

Finn bumped Poe's shoulder.

"For the record. I think you're kind of a dork."

"Oh my god, I can't believe you would say that."

"Really?"

"What's this _kind of_ business?"

"I'm sorry. You're a huuuge dork."

"Thank you. Jeez."

 

There was a padlocked iron gate to one side, barring an overgrown road. By unspoken agreement, they stopped and dropped their their things and sat their butts on it.

It was dark, but not too late for someone to come down the trail at any moment. People were back and forth well into the night- getting hot water from one of the cambros left out overnight, or just looking to use the less-trafficked latrines in peace.

Poe pulled out the tin of rollies. It was terrible, but smoking functioned as an all-purpose excuse for loitering. Honestly, the DoD was probably responsible for more addictions than advertising was. He offered one to Finn, and they sat there in silence with their cigarettes, separately rehearsing all the things they'd say if they weren't here.

 

"Hey, Finn. Did you ever go to real summer camp? When you were a kid?"

"No, did you?"

"No. I had friends who did."

"Yeah, me too."

"There's this thing they always talked about. How they'd make, like, best friends with someone, promise they'd stay friends forever. Then they'd go back to school, and." Poe shrugged, and held out an empty hand.

"That's not gonna happen."

"I hope not."

"I have your number. I can find out where you live. Show up when you least expect it."

"We're under Karé's name in the phone book. Kun, k-u-n."

"I'm under Finn. That's Finn with an eff."

"Finn, huh? Tuna or shark?"

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"It took you this long to come up with that?"

"I was saving it."

"You're worse than my uncle."

"Sadly, I am an only child. But I'm gonna make a _great_ second cousin."

"I bet you will, Poe."

 

They sat for a while, and then ground their roaches into the dirt, picked up their gear, and headed back to camp.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Canadian officer mentioned in this chapter is a real person. I can't remember her exact rank or her name, if I ever even knew it. She'd come out a couple years before I heard her story, maybe around 1996.


	14. Ever Since the World Began

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, FINALLY.
> 
> There will be a couple more chapters, just to kind of wrap things up, but this is the one we've all been waiting for.

* * *

 

They were starting to wonder if the easter egg hunt had been called off, until Ortiz found them at lunch. The NBC drill would be tomorrow; they were to set it up today. They weren't going to get the whole day again, but half the day was already more time than they really needed. So they saddled up the trusty old Bronco, and headed out to meet Utah again.

 

Lee had a team of four, this time. Splitting up three ways, they could easily do the job in an hour. But again the sergeant decreed that they would meet back late in the afternoon, and they weren't about to object. They made small talk for a while, comparing notes on their training missions and the weather, and they gave Utah a copy of the map they'd made. They unloaded the ersatz munitions, and stashed piles of stakes and engineers tape for the troops to use to quarantine the items. Lee stopped to admire Poe carrying a perfectly reasonable armload of stakes:

"That's a corn-fed gal you got there, Finn."

"Uh. Yep."

Maybe he thought he was out of earshot when he spoke, but Poe came back whistling something staccato and chromatic, about as violent as a whistle could get.

"What's that tune, hon?"

"Oh, you wouldn't like it, Lee. It's kinda blue."

"Doesn't sound blue."

"Not bluesy, _blue_. Ribald. Dirty. It's about sex, and not the wholesome kind."

"Oh. No, I probably don't need to hear that."

Poe winked at Finn, and shouldered a much larger bunch of stakes.

 

* * *

 

Lee had sent them north, to the first spot they'd found. They were each secretly a little sad that they weren't going back to their nice nap spot, and they smiled to themselves at the memory as they hiked, taking turns carrying the fake warhead.

"Someone should give that guy a gold medal," Finn said, once they were out of earshot. "Because he sure knows how to skate."

Poe laughed and added, "He musta grown up on a dairy farm, 'cause he knows how to milk it."

"He could be a running coach, 'cause he sure can stretch it out."

"Or a beauty queen. Cause he can _drag_ it out."

They laughed and sighed in unison.

"Ain't complaining, tho."

"Hell, no. Another beautiful day in semi-toxic paradise."

"Little warm, maybe."

"Nice being here with you, though."

"Awww."

They found the spot and planted the can upside down.

"Does that look like a mortar?" Poe asked.

"Not really."

"Next year they should have you working on the props."

 

They retired to the shade and got comfortable. Poe took his cap off and scratched his scalp, yawning. Finn yawned too, and swore.

"Shit's contagious, yo."

Poe imagined, briefly, having the gall to invite Finn to lay his head in his lap. Gawd, he was hopeless.

He had no idea that Finn was thinking about his fingers in Poe's hair, how good it felt, how much he wanted to do it again. Wondering if this was how straight guys felt, when they caught unexpected and almost certainly unrequited feelings toward their buddies. Probably not, from they way they tended to freak out about it.

"Hey, Poe."

"Hey, Finn."

"Have I told you how glad I am that we're buddies?"

"Not in so many words." Poe smiled. "But me too, man. Really glad."

Finn chuckled to himself, remembering Ortiz asking him if he was going to have a _problem_ with Specialist Dameron.

"What?" Poe asked.

"It's just funny. I had no idea. I'd seen you, but I had no idea who you were."

Poe started to laugh too. And then he remembered. They'd been so busy, everything had happened so fast, and he'd forgotten all about those frowns across the hangar. He remembered them now, and wished he hadn't.

Because if that _hadn't_ been a homophobic scowl of disgust, after all... what was it? Something about him must have rubbed Finn the wrong way. And that was a bummer, because it seemed like some real affection was growing between them.

Poe didn't believe in love at first sight, exactly. But there was such a thing as chemistry, magnetism, gut instincts. And it worked both ways; sometimes perfectly nice people just had bad chemistry together. And if Finn just, for whatever reason, just didn't like his fucking face, well. It wouldn't be the first time he'd had to talk himself out of a crush, and it wouldn't be the last.

"You okay?" Finn asked.

"Oh yeah."

"What is it?"

"It's nothing."

"Doesn't look like nothing." He nudged Poe's knee with his own.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Of course."

"It's stupid, but."

"It's okay, Poe."

"So... those times when you drilled with us?"

"Yeah?"

"It's stupid. It's just. I saw you, and... you didn't look very happy to see me."

"Oh. Shit."

 

Finn had reconciled that misunderstanding in his own mind, and let it go. But Poe... shit. He really had no choice but to fess up, did he? But he didn't want Poe to think-

_You guys met Specialist Dameron yet? She thinks she's a man._

_Sorry to disappoint you, Dameron, but I don't think Finn's into men._

He pushed the wannabe bully out of his mind, and tried instead to remember Poe meeting the girls for the first time. They way they'd giggled as they confessed, _We thought you were a guy_ ; the amusement on Poe's face.

_My mom says I look like that guy, you know from that eighties movie?_

 

"So... you remember what Torrey and Salas said? When they first met you?"

 _They thought I was cute_ , Poe thought, somewhat defensively. And then he pasted a mask of cheerfulness on his face and said just that.

"That they thought I was cute?"

"Well. Yeah. Exactly."

_Wait, what?_

"What?"

"I, uh. I'm sorry if... the thing is." Finn swallowed. "I thought the same thing they did. I thought- thought you were a guy."

"Oh!" Poe's heart fluttered in his chest, and he stammered. "That's cool. Don't be sorry. That's... that's great. I thought- No, that's okay, Finn."

"Is it?"

"Totally. Yeah."

"Yeah?"

_Don't swing for the fences on your first at bat. Don't shoot for the moon before you're off the ground._

Poe cleared his throat, and swung anyway. "I would like to remind the court that they _did_ say I was cute."

"Well, that's kind of what I'm saying."

"You... thought I was cute?"

"Um. Yeah. I'm sorry."

Poe laughed incredulously.

"And that's your go-to move when you see a cute guy? Shoot him dirty looks?"

"If I'm standing in the middle of an Army hangar, _in uniform_ , and he catches me staring at him, yes. Yes it is."

"Oh. That makes sense. That totally makes sense."

"Honestly, I was afraid you were gonna walk right over and punch me in the face."

"I would never!"

Okay, maybe that would be more convincing coming from someone who _hadn't_ been in a fistfight just two days ago, Poe thought.

"Maybe not literally punch me. But I thought you might yell, like, _What the fuck are you looking at,_ "

Finn omitted the epithet at the end, but they both heard it in their minds.

"Shit, Finn. That is hilarious. Because under the circumstances? I could only assume that was some kind of blatantly homophobic hate-stare. You know what I mean?"

"Fuck, you must have thought I was such an asshole!"

"Well."

Finn took Poe's hand, as if words were not enough.

"I gotta admit, Finn. When they told me we were buddies, I wasn't exactly thrilled. I was pretty nervous about it."

"Shit, Poe, I'm sorry."

"No, I get it. Makes total sense. I get it."

"For what it's worth, I wasn't trying to give _you_ a dirty look. I was trying to look at something behind you. Like a, a safety violation or something. I guess I..." Finn took a deep breath, and swallowed his pride. "I guess I just couldn't take my eyes off you."

Poe absolutely beamed at him.

"Well. I guess that makes two of us. You probably would have gotten away with it, if."

 _If I could have crawled out of those big beautiful eyes of yours_.

"If?"

It was so funny. Checking each other out, each thinking the other was probably an asshole. It was like something from one of those stupid romcoms Marina liked so much.

"Just sayin.' A straight guy probably wouldn't have even noticed. Wouldn't have looked twice. Probably woulda turned around to see what you were looking at."

_A straight guy?_

Was Poe giving him an opening?

_Just go for it._

_Just ask, just ask right now._

"A straight guy?"

 

Poe hadn't meant it like that. Hadn't meant it as an opening. He had a _plan_. To take Finn out to Rocky's, just off campus, where they could talk freely, where Finn could respond however he needed to. And if the conversation went well, maybe he'd play his mom's song on the jukebox...

He'd come out to a lot of people in a lot of ways, but this was different. So perilous. If they kicked him out, he'd lose his GI Bill. He'd have to drop out to work and save up money, and people that dropped out rarely went back.

But it just felt so _right_ , right now, almost like Finn was _asking_. He wasn't nearly as anxious as he should have been. The looseness in his body, the giddy sense of zooming toward the truth, the compulsion to trust someone- it was almost like being on E or something. And his instincts had always served him well...

He talked to his parents in his head, sometimes, when they weren't around. He knew what they would say. They were in his ears, always, like an angel and devil in a cartoon. Two angels with different philosophies:

His dad, having seen horrors at Poe's age, reminding him that sometimes discretion is the better part of valor. Live to fight another day, live to love another day, learn from one's regrets.

His mom, with the leaps of faith she'd taken in her own life, who believed that a life without trust wasn't a full one, that friendship without honesty was no friendship at all.

_When we promised to face the future together, we had no idea... I'm so proud of you, Poe._

 

"Did I ever tell you my mom's favorite song?"

"No." Finn squeezed Poe's hand, encouraging. "Sing it for me?"

" _Way back in hist'ry, three thousand years, back ever since the world began_ ,"

His fingers twitched in Finn's hand unconsciously, bending that easy outlaw riff. Even when he was young, he'd sung in a low register, along with his mom's high, clear voice.

" _Been a lotta good people shed a whole lotta tears, for a brown-eyed handsome man. That's what the trouble was, a brown-eyed handsome man_."

"Ha. I knew your dad had to be good-looking."

"It was their wedding song. Or, well, there was no one there when they got married in Hawaii. But they had a party a couple years later, and that was their song."

"Really. From what you've said, your dad doesn't sound like trouble."

"I think it's about the kind of trouble people will get themselves into _for_ such a creature."

"Ah."

 _Like I'm about to_ , Poe thought. He'd thought about what he would say to Finn. It was a safe enough gambit, at least to start. He steeled himself and went for it.

"She made Jay listen to it, when she met him."

"Who's that?"

"This guy. Pre-med student. We were in a lab together. We kinda clicked, and we kept annoying our lab partners with our tomfoolery until we all switched. We ended up kinda hanging out for a while."

"Hanging out, like..?"

"Yeah."

      _Wait-_

So... Poe still dated guys, sometimes? Oh, that was interesting. Real interesting. That... kinda changed everything.

"Like, dating?" Finn asked, just to make sure.

"Kinda sorta. He gave it a shot. _We_ gave it a shot. We knew it was gonna be weird, and we knew it wouldn't be forever. It was pretty casual."

      _Oh, wow_.

"Huh. So, this guy. He had pretty brown eyes, huh?"

Deep breath.

And then another.

"No. He had mossy green eyes, and curly black hair. Kinda skinny. Great sense of humor. Real easygoing. You know."

Finn played this answer over again, making sure he understood it, and chose his next words.

"And... he was queer, too?"

"Still is, yep. Gay as the day is long, as they say."

Finn nodded, and nodded, and squeezed Poe's hand even tighter.

"So... your mom. She... she thinks you're handsome."

"Well, she says she does. But that's kind of her job, you know. To tell her kid." Poe took another deep, only slightly shaky breath. "To tell her kid he's good looking. Even if no one else thinks so. You know. Self-esteem. Whatever."

There was no taking it back now. He felt numb, in a way he hadn't in years. _Like a prey species_ , he thought, looking out over the range, like the guys from Utah might pop up out of the tall grass to arrest him.

 

Finn stifled his first reaction, which was to laugh at the notion of no one else thinking Poe was good looking, because, _seriously_.

His second impulse was also to laugh- with relief, because it was just so obvious, so _right_ , now that it was out in the open.

Just that one little word, two little letters, made so much sense. It was almost like there wasn't anything to think about, almost like there wasn't anything to say. But he knew that even the moment it had taken him to process that much must have felt like an eternity to Poe, so he squeezed Poe's hand again, made sure he knew that he was right there with him.

_It's okay?_

No, because that sounded like it might not be.

_I knew it, I thought so?_

No, of course not.

_Sing the rest of the song for me? Sing anything, because I could listen to you sing all day._

"It's funny. Those first couple days? On the convoy? I kept thinking of you as _that cute guy from Electrical_. I had to jump through all these mental hoops to talk myself out of it."

"H-hoops?"

"But what you're telling me is..."

"I am," Poe whispered. But that wasn't his voice. He had a voice; he was proud of his voice. "I am," he said again, louder. "I don't know about cute or anything, but. I am that guy. To everyone else, at home, at school. Everywhere besides here."

It was so easy, with that, to push those manufactured images out of his mind, to welcome back his first impressions of Poe. Strong hands, strong arms, nice eyes. That toothy grin under those sunglasses, those terrible jokes. The look of concentration on his face while he felt out a fault, elbow-deep in a bulkhead.

He couldn't squeeze Poe's hand any harder, so he reached over and pulled him into a hug. Poe let his forehead fall against Finn's shoulder, and exhaled, because it was okay.

It was okay, and they held each other, strong and tight. They hugged for a long time, heart to heart, wrapping each other in reassurance and acceptance. It wasn't about nice arms or beautiful eyes, or warm voices that touched all the right places in the dark. They were buddies, and they had each other; they had each other's backs.

 

It wasn't about any of those things, until they finally started to pull away, and their cheeks slid together, soft and electric. And then they stilled, and paused, and lingered in that weightless moment before a first kiss.

"You can sleep on it," Poe whispered. "I understand."

 _I don't need to,_ Finn wanted to say _. It's okay; it's not a big deal_. But- it was a big deal. It just hadn't quite hit him yet, just how big a deal it was. Maybe Poe was right; maybe they should wait. But Poe didn't pull away, either.

"Just..." Finn brushed his lips against Poe's cheek. "As friends?"

He felt Poe smile into his cheek.

"I thought you were going to say something cheezy, like, _like they do in Europe_."

"Me? I'm not one who's a cheezball, here."

Poe laughed, and nuzzled his cheek. Finn nuzzled back, and kissed him softly. Poe kissed his jaw, and they traded tiny pecks, closer and closer, until they were nose to nose, forehead to forehead, breath short and hesitant against each other's lips.

"Can I?" Poe whispered.

" _Yes_."

It was perfect; Finn's lips were so soft, and Poe's were so gentle. They kissed slowly, unhurried and directionless. They weren't trying to get anywhere beyond the moment. It was light and timeless, everything a first kiss could be.

They didn't even realize when they'd stopped, resting and breathing together. One more little kiss, a chaser, and they pulled apart and looked at one another, all bright eyes and shy smiles. They leaned back, still smiling, still holding hands, basking in contentment.

 

At this point in his life, Poe's anxieties about physical relationships were a well-tuned machine:

_What if he regrets this? Is he going to talk about me? Make fun of me? What if he wants more? Second base? Third base? What if it's good? What if I fall in love? What if he falls in love? It'll never be like it is with other guys. I shouldn't waste his time-_

The thing about a well-tuned machine was, it functioned pretty well on autopilot. It didn't really need his input. He let it chug away in the background, and focused his attention on the moment. The sunlight reflecting off the live oak leaves, the windswept patterns in the grass. The tingle on his lips from kissing, the smell of vegetation baking in the summer sun. Finn's hand in his, callused fingers over strong knuckles, twining together in the dry leaves and thatch.

 

Finn could feel the questions welling up in the back of his mind. Questions he didn't quite know how to ask, questions Poe didn't owe him any answers to. He didn't even know if this was going anywhere, or if these two weeks would just be a fond memory that would always be a part of him.

But right now?

Right now, he was alone with that cute guy from Electrical. That handsome, funny, kinda dorky and incredibly brave guy from Electrical, who liked him, too. He high-fived his past self, because that guy had just kissed him.

Right now, he was happier than he'd been in a long time, and Poe seemed pretty happy, too. This beautiful summer afternoon felt like a gift, not just from a lazy sergeant from Utah, but from the goddess herself.

Right now, everything made just as much sense as it needed to.

 

* * *

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think Shara's more of a disco girl at heart, but she married a country guy. And she's damn proud to have raised a [Brown-Eyed Handsome Man](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HGATLY0dOh8).


	15. A&M

* * *

 

They'd promised the CO not to say anything about the easter egg hunt, so they didn't _say_ anything. They sat on their cots and quietly squared away their own MOPP gear. Which had the added benefit of giving them something to do besides make eyes, or try not to make eyes, or worry too much about why the other guy _wasn't_ making eyes, or...

Larkin picked up on it pretty quick, because he always had half an eye on his buddy Dameron. They saw his face fall, saw him silently mouth _oh, shit_. They shrugged apologetically, and he offered a pained smile and a thumbs-up in thanks, down low. He nudged Reyes, and then the two of them set so squaring their own gear away.

And that got attention, because everyone _else_ always had half an eye on Larkin. He was the kind of guy that people looked to for cues. It was unlikely that anyone ever explicitly asked themselves, _what would SPC Larkin do in this situation_ , but they were aware of his presence in a way, tuned in to him.

"Shit, did you hear something about a drill?" someone asked.

"I didn't hear nothin. But if they're gonna do one, it's gotta be tomorrow, right?"

"Shit."

The word spread pretty quick. Pretty soon everyone was checking their gear, even practicing donning their gas masks for the first time in months. It kept everyone busy until movie time, which had gotten pretty popular after the initial skepticism. For their last night with electricity, they watched _The Wrath of Khan_ , to a full house.

 

* * *

 

The exercise went off without a hitch, despite being unavoidably unpleasant. Lee seemed like the type to have given his guys a more explicit heads-up, but that was his business. At any rate, both units passed with good marks, and they were done by lunch. And after lunch, it was time to start packing. They'd be breaking camp in the morning, but they got the afternoon to start tidying up the inevitable sprawl that came from living in a space, if only for a couple of weeks.

 

Harding and Johnson had sweet-talked someone in Supply into giving up some cheap groundcloths. They hadn't come through the supply chain; someone with experience had bought them off the shelf, probably after living through a miserable rain storm at one point.

Finn joined them in cutting swaths to layer into the camo netting, fully implementing his little innovation from last year. While they worked, they idly rehashed the eternal Gerber versus Leatherman debate. The pair had become pretty good pals, after all. Johnson had made a point of casually asking Harding about his service, and he'd wholeheartedly embraced the guy's philosophy of trying to make things comfortable for everyone. It was nice to see.  

Poe was working nearby, working with a few guys to dismantle all but the bare minimum of camo netting, so there would be less to do in the morning. It was easier than putting it up, but it was still a god-damned pain in the ass.

"Hey. Dameron. Thanks for the heads up about this morning."

Poe looked up in surprise- McCollough was saying something nice to him? Well, he knew he was on Bravo's NBC team. It wouldn't have been hard to put two and two together. He smiled, but didn't admit to it.

"I didn't say nothin."

"Mighty white of ya."

Ah, there was the jerk he knew and loathed.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"I thought we were good, man."

"We are, what?"

Poe shook his head. As far as shitty things he'd heard in his time, it didn't even rate. It wasn't worth it. It just wasn't worth it.

"Nuthin, man. You're welcome."

But it was too late; everyone within earshot had stopped what they were doing to watch the moment they saw the guy approaching. 

"You know, I hear that all the time," Johnson mused aloud, as if it were just now occurring to him. "Can you... explain to me? What that means?"

"I dunno, man, it's-"

"Uh-uh," Scotty warned. Reyes dropped the starfish he'd been disassembling and stood next to Poe.

"It's just a joke."

"I don't hear nobody laughing." Reyes gestured around. 

"It's a  _joke_ , dude."

Poe almost felt bad for the guy. Everyone here said dumb shit sometimes. These guys were hardly models of PC civility themselves. And they were a lot more forgiving with people they _liked_. He hated to see someone squirm under the opprobrium of their peers, even someone that had consistently been a dick to him since day one.

"I think it's funny," Poe shrugged. He waited a beat for everyone's hackles to go down, and added, "Funny that you think it's a fucking compliment."  The group relaxed; they chuckled and hissed at the burn and repeated the line to one another.

"C'mon, Miz Dameron." Reyes took Poe by the arm. "We don't need this shit."

" _What_?" McCollough asked again, as they walked away.

 

They went around the side of one of the deuces that were staged to be loaded, and Reyes offered Poe a cigarette.

"Jackass," he muttered.

"God, he's a prick even when he's trying to be nice."

"You really think he was trying to be nice?"

"I mean. That's kinda the problem, right?"

"Kinda the problem," Reyes agreed.

 

Poe was doubly grateful for the save when he heard Harding winding up into one of those boilerplate junior NCO lectures, the kind that began with  _look_ _, so_ _ldier, we all rub elbows with people we wouldn't bring home for dinner_  and concluded with  _we all wear the same color uniform, and we all bleed the same color, too_.

That shit was the  _worst_.

 

* * *

 

On the way back, they were staying at Delta's usual bivouac, at the A&M college. Of course, there wasn't a chance they'd get to bunk together, but they were free to roam around the campus. After dinner, Poe asked Finn if the fitness center in the basement was open. Finn didn't know, because no one had ever asked before, but went with Poe to check it out. Predictably, the room was locked for the summer.

"We could go for a run," Finn suggested.

"Ugh, yuck."

"You can't _just_ do upper-body stuff, you know."

"I do squats!"

"You gotta get that cardio."

"Push-ups are cardio. If you do enough of 'em."

"Okay, Drill Sergeant Dameron."

"Psh. You know who else says that?"

"I don't know, drill _instructors_?"

"No. Jack LaLanne," Poe said, smugly.

"Was he... an actor?"

" _Jack LaLanne_? Are you kidding? The guy who, like, popularized the whole idea of clean, consumer-friendly gyms? He's like eighty and he just stays home in his mansion and does push-ups every day with his hot young wife."

"Hell of a sales pitch, dude. I don't know why you're wasting your time on science."

"Everyone needs a fallback plan, I guess."

"Right. So here's mine. How about we take a short little run-"

"How short are we talking?"

"And then we take a nice long cool-down walk. Maybe check out the nooks and crannies of this empty campus."

 _Oh_.

Oh, that sounded like a _great_ idea.

"Mmm, who's the salesman now?"

 

Poe didn't hate running as much as he said he did. But he didn't love it, either. And he didn't like the idea of his ex-track-team crush having to pace himself for him to keep up. In the gym, at least, he could show off a little. But he definitely liked the idea of slipping away from the group with a good alibi.

And indeed, when they showed up in the courtyard in PTs, absolutely _no one_ was interested in joining them. The only run they were interested in was the beer run that Stan was collecting for- fully authorized, as long as no one got stupid about it.

"You guys want in?"

"I'm good," Poe said. Finn tugged at his empty PT pockets, and Stan promised to spot him a couple.

 

"Not in the mood?" Finn asked, once they were away from the dorm.

"Not much of a beer drinker. I know I said _let's get a beer sometime_ , but I meant, like, _a drink_. Like saying Kleenex instead of tissue. It just sounds better."

"So what's your poison, then?"

"I dunno. I like fancy-ass whiskey, but I can't afford it very often."

"Whiskey. At your age."

"You know me. Sometimes I need something to wash the taste of foot out of my mouth."

"Mmm. Wise choice. For you." Finn nudged him playfully. The truth was, he avoided beer because of the empty calories, but he didn't like even admitting that to himself, let alone anyone else.

"Of course, if I'm feeling optimistic."

"Aren't you always?"

"I'll get a vodka something, if I'm feeling lucky. Cause not everyone likes the taste of whiskey, you know?"

"So you're a soldier _and_ a gentleman."

"Sure, let's go with that."

"Well. Just so you know. I'm partial to a vodka cran, myself."

"With a spritz?"

"Is there any other way?"

"You know that is the gayest drink."

"Prett-ty gay," Finn agreed. "Prett-ty gay." 

 

They walked across the quad, bounded on one end by a brutalist library, and on the other by administration, the sole east-coast-style faux-classical building on campus. They picked a bench under the stingy shade of a crepe myrtle to stash their canteens on.

"So, is this the part where we do those deep, homoerotic hamstring stretches?" Poe asked.

"You not warmed up enough yet?"

"Warmed up? Dude, this my _act_."

Finn sighed, and then swatted Poe on the arm. "Go!" he said, as he took off jogging.

Poe kept up just fine, probably because Finn was being nice. If he was bored by having to pace himself, he didn't let on. He didn't try to make conversation, which was considerate. Pretty soon, Poe was fully engaged in scoping out the campus for those _nooks and crannies_ to explore.

The Ag section sprawled out across the state highway, but Finn showed mercy and didn't death-run them around the barns and pastures of the animal husbandry division. The botany buildings were part of the main campus, though, and that's where Poe spied the perfect spot for canoodling.

At least, that's what he hoped it was for. He hoped Finn wasn't just looking for a quiet spot to let him down gently.

 

* * *

 

"Way to get the lead out, champ," Finn said, back at their starting point.

"Gee, thanks, coach."

"No, I mean it. That was a good run."

"A good run, he says. Why do I get the feeling you let Curie win at checkers?"

"She's not quite at checkers yet. But my plan is to let her have one in three."

"That's fair."

Poe drank some water while he screwed his courage to suggest his destination.

"So, uh. Did you see those greenhouses back there?"

"I did, but I wasn't sure they were real," Finn said.

"Real?"

"I don't know how much you know about long distance running-"

"Oh, boy."

"They say the third kilometer is where you really start to hallucinate."

"Okay," Poe rolled his eyes.

"But I say that kind of transcendence is really the essence of an endurance sport, don't you think?"

"You know, you're lucky you're so good-looking."

"Rubber, glue, buddy. Lead the way."

 

There were four long rows of greenhouses. In the evening glow they could see that they were a patchwork of climate zones, variously clear or opaque with condensation. They made a show of peering through the windows of the first one with exaggerated curiosity. It was a propagation house, sheltering thousands of seedlings in identical black pots, identified only by bar code stickers.

"Think those are GMO?" Finn asked.

"So, the thing about that-"

"I know, I know. Anything cultivated is modified in some way."

"Oh good, you know the script."

"I'm not a luddite. But _some_ of that shit sounds pretty creepy."

"Some of it is. But I think that happens in secure R&D facilities, not in turn-of-the-century land-grant relics."

They moseyed to the middle row and casually turned in, down the row a ways, and pressed their faces to the glass.

"Ooh, flahrs."

"Not exactly the St. Louis Conservatory in there."

"They're probably studying them as crops."

"Good," Finn nodded. "It's about time we lowered our expectations."

"Are you- being sarcastic?" Poe wasn't sure.

"No way. Imported flowers are dirty business, man."

"I know! Between the pesticides-"

"The endemic sexual harassment-"

"How can anyone think that shit's _romantic_?"

"It's bad," Finn sighed. "But they do brighten a room."

"Huh. So..." Poe tried to sound casual. "Hypothetically... if a person were to track down some native, union-grown, organic flowers... that might be something you... might appreciate?"

Finn smiled wide, because Poe asking like that was just fucking _adorable_. "It's a tall order, I know." He leaned into Poe's shoulder, looked around to make sure no one was looking, and dropped a quick peck against his temple. "Honestly, wildflowers from the side of the road are just as nice."

Poe laughed, almost choking on the warm bubble of happiness in his chest, because that was definitely _some_ kind of a yes. Flowers? Heck, he'd grow them himself if he had to.

"Wildflowers?" he said instead. "That sounds like something from one of those dumb movies you guys like."

"Us guys?"

"You and my cousin."

"Yeah- me, her, and the vast majority of the movie-going public."

"Not helping your case."

"Tell you what. Give us half an hour at Blockbuster together, and we'll find something to win you over."

 _Done_ , Poe thought, because Marina was the closest thing he had to a sibling, and he would gladly give up any pretensions of movie snobbery to earn Finn her stamp of approval. Christ, and they'd only even kissed once-

"C'mon," he jerked his chin toward a darker section, further down the row.

 

They spent a few seconds pretending to look through the window, and then reached out simultaneously, taking one another's hands, looking at one another. Poe was so good-looking, and Finn just wanted to _look_ , to take him in, but he didn't want him to think he was staring, scrutinizing, judging. Poe chewed his lip subconsciously; he looked nervous and hopeful. _You should sleep on it_ , he'd said, and Finn had. But he'd also tried not to think about it too much.

For one thing, he didn't want to speculate- about what steps Poe had taken, what steps he was planning to take or wanted to take- before they could really talk. He was afraid, maybe, of imagining who he wanted Poe to be before knowing who he really was.

And, in all honesty, it was hard, around the other guys. There had been a moment back on the range when the competing images of Poe in his mind had resolved, only to be replaced by a new pair: There was Poe, his friend, the handsome, funny, smart, caring guy that he really wanted to get to know, and definitely wanted to kiss again. And then there was Specialist Dameron, _Miz Dameron_ , the confident, wisecracking butch-ass dyke that people stood up for, because she was a good soldier and a good teammate, and fun and easy to get along with, and maybe also because they were pretty decent guys who thought DADT was stupid anyway.

And if it was hard for him to hold both ideas in his mind, what was it like for Poe?

 

He slid his hands up Poe's arms, nice arms, really nice arms. Poe worked his ass off, obviously, and Finn hoped that he enjoyed it, at least, and that it wasn't just something he felt like he had to do.

Poe reached out too, touching, smoothing his hands over Finn's chest. Nervous at first, more so than the first time, because that had been spontaneous, but this _meant_ something. He regained his confidence as he noticed Finn's eyes flitting to his lips, as Finn's thumbs dug into his biceps.

"Is this alright?" Poe whispered.

"Yeah," Finn answered, because yeah, it was.

Poe glanced over his shoulder, making sure the coast was still clear. He squeezed Finn's shoulders, curled one hand around his neck with a slight pressure that meant _c'mon, bring it in_.

Finn mirrored the gesture automatically, sliding his hand over Poe's shoulder toward his neck, and felt a flash of hurt as his fingers moved over the ridge of elastic under his shirt. A sense of what it meant for Poe to be here, how it must feel to have that as part of his uniform.

It was a little thing, in the big picture, compared to the sacrifices any of them would make if called upon to do so. It was just one of a litany of petty humiliations doled out from on high. But those complaints were shared in collective gripe sessions; hardship brought them together. But this particular affront was Poe's alone to bear. It felt lonely, lonely in a place where sometimes comradeship was the only consolation.

 

He moved his hand to the back of Poe's neck and up, to brush against the grain of his hair.

"Did I ever tell you how much I like your haircut?" he murmured into Poe's cheek.

"Mmm, tell me," Poe said, at the corner of Finn's mouth.

"I like it a lot... can I kiss you again?" he whispered into lips that were already there.

"Yeah," Poe breathed, just before his lips captured Finn's. He kissed Finn gently, holding his breath while he waited for a cue,  _is this okay? Is this as good as I think it is? Is this okay with you?_

Finn tilted his head and opened his mouth ever so slightly, and Poe relaxed in his arms, because yes, yes it was good, yes. He caressed his thumb over Finn's cheek, pushed his lips apart with his own and opened to him, let his tongue slide over the inside of his lip. He slid his hand to Finn's hip, felt Finn's fingers in his hair. He felt like he was floating six inches off the ground.

  
And then there was a  _noise_ , and they pulled apart and turned back to the windows, hearts pounding, before their brains had fully identified it.

"Just a vent," Poe whispered. Another clang confirmed it, then another and another, the sound of automated vents throughout the greenhouse, responding to some timer or humidistat or something. The two turned to face one another, chuckling nervously.

"We should probably be getting back anyway, huh?"

"Yeah. We should." Finn took Poe's hand again.

"But maybe we can- get together sometime? And talk about stuff?"

"Yeah. Actually. I was hoping we could get together sometime soon."

Poe broke into a huge smile that he didn't even try to hide.

"Yeah. I'd like that. I'd like that a lot."

"Me too."

They kissed again, just once, and hugged, and kissed each other on the cheek. Squeezed their hands together, and smiled up at the last wisps of neon in the deepening purple sky.

 

* * *

 

"Hey, there they are." White was back with them, after spending most of the last two weeks in exile with the other air traffic controllers from the other units.

"You two get lost or something?"

"Gotta go back to orienteering class?"

"Did you know this guy did track in high school?" Poe complained, jerking his thumb at Finn. "Woulda been nice to know _before_ I agreed to, quote, a short little after-dinner run, unquote."

"Where'd you go?"

"Around half the frickin' county, I think."

"Have a beer then, hydrate."

"Nah-"

Larkin cut him off by throwing his arms over their shoulders, a Beast in each hand.

"I got you, Miz Dameron. You too, Finn. I owe you one. Owe you a couple, actually."

"Aw, thanks, man."

Poe supposed he could have _one_ , for the sake of _esprit de corps_.

"So Finn, what's this about you smoking Dameron?"

"Whoa," Poe protested. "No one said anything about smoking anyone."

"Oh, I smoked you, alright."

" _Dude_."

"Lemme tell you about the first time we worked together," Larkin grinned, and held Poe tighter. "So we're servicing this battery, right? Which, for you grease monkeys, is this hundred-pound, twenty-four volt fucking bitch-in-a-box."

"It's like, sixty pounds." Poe rolled his eyes.

"And I go to get a dolly, and she's like- what did you say?"

"I said you could play with your dollies _after_ work."

"Right," Larkin chuckled. "And I'm like, I ain't carrying this thing myself. And she looks at me like this innocent little noob, and says, _Well, it's half-empty, right? Isn't that why we're servicing it?_ "

"You shoulda seen the look on your face, dude."

"And I'm like, sweetheart, you know the water isn't the heavy part, right?"

Everyone laughed; Larkin was really in his element, here.

"And then she walks right over, and she just fuckin' yanks it out of the well like it's fuckin' nothing. And I'm like, _daammn_ , you know? And she's just standing there waiting for me to take one side, and she says-"

"See, I told you. Half-empty."

It was a good story and got a good laugh, but when someone riffed on it with _you sure you ain't one of those East German girls_ , it was Poe's cue to excuse himself.

"Speaking of emptying things. I gotta find the little electricians' room." He offered Finn an apologetic glance before slapping Larkin on the shoulder and heading inside.

 

The guys kept joking, but Larkin threw his arm around Finn and guided him away from the group.

"So what I'm sayin' is, I see where you're coming from, bro."

"Wait, who's coming from where?"

"C'mon. I seen you. Tryna recruit for the home team."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Finn tried.

People had been reminding him from day one that _you're not her type, dude_. It was oddly reassuring- every time someone said that, it affirmed that they saw him as a red-blooded American boy, possibly clueless but definitely straight.

And there was something sweet about the way that everyone seemed to sense the chemistry between them, even if- _thank god_ \- they misinterpreted it. It was like a queer, inverse, mirror-image of the girl's friends in a romcom, telling her she was in love with the boy before she realized it herself.

"Yeah you do. And I get it. I admire you for trying. But I'm tellin ya." He stopped with his hand on Finn's shoulder and looked him in the eye. "I wouldn't count on a commission this spring, you know what I'm saying?"

That was... a terrible metaphor. But still. The Army was going to need guys like Larkin, when the DoD inevitably took the next step and allowed people to serve openly. He really was a good guy, and a good buddy to Poe.

"We're _friends_ ," Finn assured him. "I'm really glad we got to know each other, but we're _friends_."

Larkin nodded slowly, not quite buying it.

"Besides, man. I'm tryna get my girl back. I ain't about to fuck that up again."

That, Larkin bought. He patted Finn on the back and turned back toward the group.

"How's that going? With your lady."

"Oh, hot and cold, man, hot and cold. I think she's hanging me out to teach me a lesson."

"Women will do that," Larkin agreed, with genuine sympathy.

 

* * *

 

Salas was in the bathroom, fussing with her hair in the mirror, and she was still there when Poe was done.

"Sup girlfriend," he asked as he washed his hands.

"Hey, Poe." She looked kind of bummed out, actually.

"It'll be nice to be home again, huh?"

She sighed deeply, clearly wanting to talk about something.

"No?" Poe asked. "What's wrong?"

She looked up, hesitating before confessing.

"When I get home. I think I'm gonna break up with my boyfriend."

"Oh." Poe blinked.

 

Shit.

 

"I think I have to."

"How, um. How do you think that's gonna go?"

"I'm dreading it."

"Well. There's a lot of conventional advice out there, about relationships and stuff. But listen. You don't owe anyone honesty if... if it's not safe."

"Oh, no. No, it's not like that."

He watched her, trying to assess if that was really true.

"What are you gonna tell him?"

Salas glanced around at the open stalls. There was patently no one else in the room, but Poe recognized the reflex.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have asked."

"It's just. Whatever I say, he's going to want to  _fix_."

"Well, he can't fix something that ain't broke in the first place."

"I know." She frowned and wrung her hands. "But, I  _don't_  know. I don't...  _really_  know. I haven't... I don't know."

She looked like she needed a hug, and Poe wanted to give her one. But after all the comments people had been making- if someone walked in, it would be better if they weren't even standing too close. And he hoped to any gods that were out there that this wasn't just about  _him_.

"It sounds like, maybe you need some space to figure things out."

"Yes, exactly. I need some space to figure things out."

"Is it... something you've been thinking about for a while?"

"All the time, yeah."

"Do you have... friends? You know?"

"Not really. There was this guy I went to high school with. But he moved to New Orleans. I don't even have his number."

Well, _crap_ , Poe thought. He felt the weight on his shoulders. What would she think, if she saw him  _out there_? Would she be disgusted, or feel betrayed by someone she'd trusted? At least, he doubted she'd say anything. Like the old joke about two Baptists pretending not to see one another in the liquor store. And he couldn't say no. So many people had been there for him, over the years. He didn't really have a choice, here.

"There's a group, on campus."

"I'm not a student."

"Oh, no, you don't want to go to _meetings_." The discourse, Christ, the discourse. He hadn't been to one since freshman year. "But they do events. Open to the public. They have to; it's in the charter, for all the groups. Like, films and readings and stuff. And all kinds of people go to them. You're not, like, signing up for anything."

"Would you be there?"

"Uh. Sometimes. I've got a pretty heavy course load next year."

"Oh, I don't mean, like." She took a step back and put her hand up; she wasn't trying to ask him out.

"Oh, of course not, I didn't think so. No, I, uh. I could go to one or two, introduce you to some folks. If you want. Or not, if you don't. No pressure. But if you want."

"How do I find out about those things?"

"Well. Do you use email?"

"Of course!" She looked mildly offended.

"I mean, like a rocketmail or something? Some people don't want their parents seeing stuff."

"I have a hotmail address?"

"Great!" He tried to sound cheerful and encouraging, despite his qualms. "I'll forward the event stuff to you. There's something, like, pretty much every month."

"Okay," she smiled.

"And, if you want, let me know how it goes with the guy. If you want to talk. I mean, not just to me. My roommate's always down for splitting a quart of ice cream and trashing men, if that's your thing. She's good with that kind of stuff. She's a good person to talk to."

"That's generous." Salas laughed a little, even as she wiped a little mist from the corner of her eye.

"Hey, it's like I said. We gotta look out for each other, right, buddy?"

"Right. Thank you. I mean it, Poe. I'm really glad you came with us this year."

"Me, too." Poe smiled, because he really, really was.

 

* * *

 


	16. We're Gonna Do This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Open on the return convoy, where Poe is fulfilling a promise he made on the outbound trip.

* * *

 

_"Cra-dled by two loving"_

_"Cra-dled by two loving"_

_"Arms that I'll die! for,"_

_"Arms that I'll die! for"_

_"One lit-tle kiss and"_

_"One lit-tle kiss and"_

_"Felina, good-bye."_

_"Felina, good-bye."_

 

Poe slapped the cadence against his thigh for another measure and looked over for a reaction.

"I like it," Finn said. "I like the flourish-y bits."

"You should hear it from a whole platoon. Like a pack of dogs howling."

"Ate up some road though, I tell you what."

"Told you it was long."

Poe opened a canteen and offered it to Finn. They wet their whistles, and Finn gave Poe's hand a little squeeze.

"Bet you can't wait to see Curie, huh?"

"Two weeks is a long time, man."

"I bet."

"What are you going to do when you get home?"

"Oh, I dunno. Eat a proper salad. Go to the gym."  _Do laundry_ , he almost said, like an idiot, but caught himself in time. "Hang out some. I've got a week before my summer classes start."

"Nice."

"Yeah. Of course, I've got a _lot_ of laundry to do after this."

It wasn't true and Finn knew it; it was actually rather less laundry than an average two-week period would generate.

"Yep. A  _looot_  of laundry."

"Uh-huh," Finn grinned.

"I see a lot of _Golf Digest_ in my future," Poe lamented, and sighed deeply.

"Sounds rough. You should find a new place."

"Where should I start? Yellow pages? Ask Jeeves?"

"Yahoo?"

"Bozo."

Finn's lips twisted in amusement.

"Tell you what. I'll bring you to my place, if-"

"Done. You got it."

"Wow, someone likes to live dangerously."

"That's me. Danger is my middle name."

"Really."

"Yep. Poe 'Danger' Dameron they call me.  _Fly into the danger zone_. You know that song?"

"I may have heard it once or a million times."

"The theme song to that classic of queer cinema,  _Top Gun_."

"Oh, so that's what happened. I saw that movie at an impressionable age."

"Yeah, forget this Gen Y stuff, we're the  _Top Gun_  generation."

Finn laughed and smiled out at the passing landscape.

"Can you wait til Sunday?"

"For you and _Scientific American_? I can wait a few days."

"And maybe a drink after?"

"Sounds like a plan." Poe turned to the window, because he was grinning like an absolute doofus. When his face had finally relaxed a little, he remembered to ask, "So, what's the if? What have I gotten myself into?"

"Nothing," Finn shook his head. "No if."

"Well, you were gonna say  _something_."

"I was just wondering. If you meant it, before. About meeting your folks sometime."

"Of course! Totally. That'd be great."

"I don't mean, you know."  _I'm not trying to rush this into a relationship_.

"You're not going to ask them for my hand in marriage just yet?"

"Yeah, I suppose we should go on an actual date, first."

"I suppose- wait, did you just ask me out?"

"Ah- I thought that's what we were talking about? With the, uh. Getting together and stuff?"

"You want our first date to be at the  _laundromat_?"

"Well, when you put it that way-"

"And I thought the  _wildflowers_  were sappy. Christ, Marina is going to  _love_  you."

Finn licked his finger and mimed scoring a point for himself. He laughed to himself, because it reminded him of that awkward first day, when he'd imagined tallying up all their little apologies.

"Not that you need one, but- any particular reason? That you want to meet them?"

"I don't know. Tell me if I'm wrong, but. You seem like the kind of kid that brings kids home for the holidays, if they need someplace to go."

"I've done that. Guilty as charged. But- things aren't that bad, are they?"

"No. They're not. Not at all. They love me, I love them."

"Good, yeah."

"I know I have to talk to them sometime."

"No pressure here, pal. Only you can know the right time."

"I mean, it's not like they'd disown me or anything."

"I hope not. Not with a grandkid they want to see."

Poe looked over at him, encouraging, but Finn just glared silently through the windshield, his mood suddenly darker.

"Hey. Maybe we can talk about it when you're not driving."

"She couldn't take it," Finn said abruptly. "If she thought I was lost. If she thought I wasn't going to be there. Cut off from her and God for all of eternity. She just couldn't take it. I don't know how to do that to her."

Poe didn't say anything, because he had no words for the thing suddenly burning in his chest. Not the quick white flash of offense that he knew so well, nor the dark undercurrent of fear that sometimes prickled up his spine. It was something kindling, low and deep and hot.

He knew his parents were scared, all the time, about what punishments  _this_ world might have in store for him. And as much as he'd worked on it over the years, he still carried a measure of guilt over it. But this was something else, so hurtful and so  _unnecessary_ ; it was enraging.

"You were right," he said, finally.

"About what?"

"About  _fuck that horseshit_. No one should ever have to feel that way about their child."

"No. They shouldn't."

 

They were quiet for a long time. Finn took some slow breaths and tried to shrug off the bad mood.

"Anyway, it's not about them. It's more because, I got a kid of my own, you know?"

"Mm-hm?"

"And I don't want her to feel like she has to lie to me about why she wants to do theater. I don't want her to get knocked up before she's ready. I want her to know it's okay. It's okay to be- whoever she wants to be, you know?"

Damn, right in the fucking heartstrings. Poe dabbed quickly at his eyes.

"Aw, Finn. It wasn't fucking easy, you know. It's still not."

"I know. But that's the kind of parent I want to be, you know?"

"Finn. I know I haven't known you that long. But from everything I can see? I'm pretty sure you already are."

"I'm tryin', man. I'm tryin'."

The deuce was high above the passenger cars around them, and slow enough that semis rushed by them on the left without a glance. Poe reached over to take Finn's hand, and held it until they were approaching base, and the radio chatter started up. 

 

* * *

 

They'd talked twice on the phone during the week. The first time, they'd shyly- and suggestively- talked about how it was weird to be sleeping alone again. They'd chatted about the comforts of home, and confirmed their date on Sunday.

 

Then, Finn's friends got to him.

 

Slip was a CAD jockey at the construction firm, the quintessential geek: soft and prickly and pedantic, and admittedly not very experienced with romance. He was sharply observant, but also stunningly tactless. (For example: he'd given Finn a minor heart attack by casually guessing he was gay after knowing him for about a week.)

He asked Finn about AT over lunch, with the general air of condescension he held toward such macho pursuits. For a guy who could cite Erwin Rommel's career chapter and verse, he sure didn't seem to have much respect for anyone alive today who would choose to serve. He'd gotten himself kicked out of bars more than once for criticizing the Desert Storm endgame- or rather, for not knowing when to back down about it. So Finn skipped over talking too much about the actual training, and admitted that he might have met someone.

"Really. Never saw you going for the John Wayne type."

"He's not. He's an electrician."

"Oh?" Slip looked interested.

"And he's in school to be an endocrinologist."

" _Girlfriend_ ," Slip enthused. "Am I allowed to say that?"

"Sure, whatever."

"Tell me more."

"I'm going to regret telling you this, but... he plays D&D."

Slip sat up straight, psyched like Finn had never seen him.

"Why, good Sir Finncelot, these are most excellent tidings. Do you know what you want to be?"

"Me? No. I'm not going to start playing."

"He probably suggested a _wizard_ ," Slip rolled his eyes. "But I've known you longer and I've always seen you as a closet fighter. I know it sounds mindless, but you can actually have quite a lot of fun with it."

"Really. Not interested. I regret telling you already."

Slip had half a dozen mini campaigns ready to go, just a few hours play time, eight hours tops, no more than a day, anyway Finn would love it, his guy was gonna love it, it was a great way to really get to know someone, this was gonna be awesome... he rubbed his hands together with glee.

He really wasn't interested, Finn insisted. They hadn't even been on a  _date_  yet. They were getting together next weekend.

Where? Slip wanted to know.

Just to do laundry, Finn said. And a drink after.

Slip stopped and stared at Finn over the top of his glasses.

"Are you daft, my friend?"

"What, it's cute."

"Utterly, batshit barmy?"

"Like in a movie."

"I know little of which I speak, but I'm fairly sure that that is  _not_  how one goes about wooing the object of one's affection."

"I'm not  _wooing_. What is this  _wooing, verily, forsooth_ \- oh my god, you fucking nerds."

Slip pulled out his pager.

"No, don't!"

"I'm calling in the muscle, Finncelot."

"No, dude, I see the error of my ways!"

"My query to her is as to which, among her catalogue of heavy spanners, would be most effective in beating some sense into the skull of a young, lovestruck fool."

"Really, you don't have to-"

 

When he got out at six, Rey was waiting by his car.

"What's this I hear about a fucking laundromat?"

 

* * *

 

So, here he was, standing outside an off-campus bar, feeling like an intruder. Like some creep that prowled around trying to pick up college kids. Despite the fact that Poe was, technically, a few months older than him.

Rocky's looked nice enough from the outside. There were plants in the windows, and the building had been painted sometime in the last twenty years. He checked himself out in a window, and stepped inside.

 

Okay, maybe Poe was right; it didn't look like some sticky underage meat market. There was sunlight, for one thing, and nary a pitcher in sight. There were people of all ages having actual conversations, over Deee-Lite playing at a perfectly appropriate volume. He looked around the room, looking for Poe.

"Looking for someone?" The server was kind of goth-lite, with red-streaked hair and severe makeup and a pair of lip rings. Poe had said that they knew him here, and to ask for him.

"Do you know Poe Dameron?"

Her face lit up. "He said he was meeting someone." She looked Finn up and down, her face registering tentative approval.

"Should I twirl? Maybe show you my catwalk?"

She smiled wider. "I'm Liza. And you're...?"

"Finn."

"Finn." She looked him over again, making a show of judging him. "Well, Finn, Poe's up on the roof."

"I'm not  _that_  late!"

 _"Aa-haa,_ " she fake-laughed. "No wonder he likes you, jeez. What'll you have?"

"Vodka cran? With a spritz?"

"And a twist?"

"Of  _course_."

 

The view from the rooftop patio was nice. The lush treetops around the campus... and Poe. Poe was lazing under an umbrella in a white plastic patio chair, with his feet up on another, looking very comfortable. He beamed when he saw Finn, pulled off his sunglasses and got up to greet him with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. He pulled out a chair and settled Finn into it.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So. Cheers?"

"To?" Poe asked, lifting his glass. A barely touched, suspiciously  _pink_  glass, with a lime twist to match his own. It left a generous puddle of condensation on the heavy redwood table.

"I would say _to luck_ , but you say you don't believe in it."

"Hey, it wasn't the universe that made us buddies. It was Sergeant Ortiz, trying to optimize manpower."

"Couldn't it be the same thing?"

"To Ortiz, as an unwitting instrument of the great universal will?"

"To Ortiz," Finn clinked their glasses.

"Oh! I got something for you."

Poe reached under his chair and pulled out a fistful of euphorbia.

"I know paintbrush is more bouquet-ish, but it wilts so fast. So I got these instead."

There was fire-on-the-prairie and snow-on-the-prairie, and some indistinct ones that looked like they had come from less than ideal growing conditions- not so much  _side of the road_  as cracks in the sidewalk. A few sprigs of butter-and-eggs held the whole bouquet together. And as if that weren't enough, a few bolted spikes of basil lurked in the center, which Poe hastened to admit had come from his friend Jess.

"They're beautiful. Thank you."

"Like you said, they brighten up a room. But they brighten up a sidewalk, too, so don't get too used to it." Poe said this despite having every intention of bringing Finn flowers every chance he got.

"I guess we'll just have to take more walks."

"Guess we will."

Poe took a long sip of his drink, and sucked his lips in, and looked down shyly.

"What's up?" Finn asked.

"Well. I got you something else, too. But it's okay if you don't want it."

"Okay."

Poe pulled a folded piece of paper out of his pocket. He played with it nervously on the table.

"What is it?"

"So. Um. I was talking to my friend Tim. He's around for the summer, too, because. Well. He doesn't go home much."

For an instant, from the nervous energy Poe was radiating, Finn thought he was going to say that this Tim guy had asked him out or something.

"I didn't mention your name, or anything about you. I didn't say anything about knowing you from the Army, or anything. I just said I knew someone."

"Okay..."

"But he, uh. He had some pretty bad experiences with religion, growing up."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"So he and a couple other kids. They do like a- a bible study group?"

Finn blinked and blinked, while that landed, and Poe waited, trying very hard not to fiddle with the note too much, not to just tear it up, because there was a chance he was really fucking up, here.

"A  _queer_  bible study?"

"Yeah. I mean. I don't know how...  _spiritual_  it is. Versus, like, arming themselves with the text, you know? So they can argue with people about it?"

Finn felt the laughter rising up from deep inside, like a methane bubble from deep beneath the ocean.

"So, like regular bible study, then."

Poe looked somewhat terrified; he had no idea whether that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"That's what it is, man. It's exactly what you just said. It's about arming yourself with the Word, to do battle with the adversary."

Poe just blinked, and nodded, and listened.

"They say you fight him where you stand, you know? People come with the most _mundane_ fucking conflicts, like Dear Abby shit, looking for answers. They see his influence _everywhere_. And the politics are never up for debate. It's like, come for the group therapy, leave with a talking points memo."

Poe winced, because that kind of sounded like GSA meetings, which was why he'd stopped going.

"You really never had that, growing up?"

"No. I mean, we went to church when I was little. I've been to funerals and stuff. I know the basic story."

"Wow." Finn shook his head.

"I'm sorry." Poe started to pull the note back.

"No, wait." Finn grabbed his wrist. "Can I see?"

Poe took a deep breath, seriously regretting bringing this up. He should at least have waited til the second date, fuck. He unfolded the note:

 

          SU 338

          2nd/4th Wed

          7pm

 

" _Wednesday_?" Finn looked up, somewhat stunned.

"I know. It's weird. It's probably the only night they could get the room. You probably can't make it. Or don't want to. I get why you wouldn't want to. I just thought- I'm sorry."

"Poe."

"I'm sorry."

"That's when regular bible study is."

"Huh?"

"Wednesday night, yeah."

"That's... a thing?"

"Yeah. These guys. Your friends. They're... they're serious."

"Yeah, I think they are."

Finn stared at the piece of paper in his hands.

"SU- that's the student union building?"

"Yeah."

"But."

"Oh, so. It's not a public thing. Obviously. So I said that if you wanted to go, I'd go with you the first time. To introduce you, and tell them you're not some asshole there to- you know. Be an asshole."

"But you don't want to go to something like that."

"Why not? I don't mind learning new things. I mean, it is the dominant mythology of the culture I live in."

Finn huffed, envious of Poe's take-it-or-leave-it intellectual  _interest_.

"It was just an idea. Honest. I totally get why you wouldn't want to, and I'm sorry, I shouldn't have brought it up- I was just talking to him anyway, and-"

"Poe. I want to go."

"You do?"

"At least, to try it. To meet these kids. But I hate to ask you to do that."

"You know me, I'll try anything once." Poe tried to sound nonchalant, and totally failed.  

Finn felt himself misting up, teetering on the edge of just _crying_ , but Poe had obviously gone way out on a limb, here, so he tried to keep it together.

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry," Poe said again.

"Are you kidding? This is the nicest-" He shook his head and tried to blink the mist away.

"Oh, no, nonono, dude, it wasn't supposed to be, like, some big romantic gesture or something. Just- a friendship thing. A solidarity thing."

"I know."

"I mean, shit. I'm not saying- shit."

"I know."

"I'm totally into you, Finn. So into you. The flowers? Were definitely supposed to be a romantic thing." Poe looked up at him, hope shining through the awkwardness.

"Good," Finn smiled, putting the tears behind him for now, although he knew he was going to break down over it later. "Because I'm absolutely taking them that way."

"Good."

"Good."

"Alright."

"Alright."

 

They reached across the table to hold hands, to reassure one another. Poe's hands were so strong. Smaller than his, yes, but broad and thick and hard. He rubbed his thumb over Poe's knuckles, over the veins on the backs of his hands. He reminded himself that Poe had really put himself out there just now, and that he should get himself together, because they were on a date.

"But just so you know. Bible study- even queer bible study- doesn't count as a second date, okay?"

"Okay," Poe laughed, partly because no, that didn't sound very date-like, but mostly because he hadn't fucked up after all.

"So, are we gonna try for dinner and a movie?" Finn prodded.

"Sounds crazy, but I'll give it a shot."

"Okay, so. Dinner at the Cracker Barrel out on the highway..."

"Really? I always thought suicide bombing was more of a golden anniversary kind of thing. But sure, let's live fast. Die young and leave beautiful memories."

"Good point. Let's not rush into that. How about Sukothai One? The one downtown?"

"I dunno. Sounds pretty gay."

"Hate to break it to you, Dameron, but."

"Also, fair warning, I can get _down_ in some tom kha. Like, I might make some weird noises, and I might briefly forget that you or anything else exists."

"Warning taken. I won't be offended."

"Cool. So."

"So." Finn smiled. "Movie?"

" _Deep Impact_."

"You don't mean that."

"What do you want to see?"

" _Shakespeare in Love_?"

"No. How about  _Enemy of the State_?"

"Ummm, sure."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"Honestly, I expected to land on  _Shakespeare_. You gotta learn how to negotiate."

" _Shakespear_ e it is, then."

"Nope. Too late."

Finn looked at Poe, at the mixture of bright joy and permanent worry that played across his face, at the pride that held him up and the humor that he arrayed like some kind of force field. The caring- no, the _solidarity_ that just seemed to flow in his veins. He picked up the bouquet and sniffed the sharp, sweet basil. He thought about the absolutely insane notion of going to queer bible study with a guy he'd met three weeks ago.

And then he said possibly the stupidest thing he'd ever said in his life.

"So this buddy of mine at work. Deep nerd. Kinda awkward."

"Sounds like a good guy."

"He wants us to do a- a mini campaign? You and me. He said he'd, uh, run it? Orchestrate it, whatever?"

Poe's eyes widened; his mouth opened, and then closed again to form Finn's name.

"Finn."

"If you want. We definitely don't have to."

" _Finncelot_."

"Nope, _that's_ not gonna stick, or I'm out."

"Finn."

He was pretty sure he'd never seen a man look so deeply in love, in real life or on any screen.

"You okay, Poe?"

"Finn. Buddy. We're gonna do this."

 

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my GOD I can't believe I made it. This is the hardest I've ever worked on any fic or probably any writing project ever. Thank you so much to everyone who hung in there with the slow updates and cheered me on. Y'all are the best. 
> 
> This last chapter was actually one of the first ones that I wrote. This whole thing ended up being almost twice as long as I intended, largely because of the OCs. Most of them represent real people I've known and worked with, and it didn't feel right to just introduce them as plot devices and then leave them hanging. I hope that I managed to wrap up their stories in a way that was satisfying.
> 
> Also, I hope it's not too jarring that I introduce Finn's canon buddies in the last chapter. Poe's buddies were there in the first chapter, and then they go through this journey, starting apart and returning together... I was going for some kind of symmetry, here. I hope it works.
> 
> I really love these guys, and I love all of you for reading, and I especially love all of the encouraging comments.
> 
> Oh my god I love Finn and Poe so much. You can put that on my tombstone.


End file.
